


Profess Unto Me

by mishaminion69, sydkn3e



Series: Profess Unto Me [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester, Cause this would definitely fall under that, Cum Inflation, Cum Play, Dean Winchester is...very subby, Established consent, Godstiel - Freeform, Grace Feeding, Grace Kink, Heavy Angst, I want to be clear: Cas and Dean do not hurt each other physically or intentionally, Is there a rating worse than explicit?, Kink Christmas, M/M, Master/Slave Dynamic, No but really...there is plot, OMC we wrote this and we're blushing, Oops...got some plot in our porn, Read at Your Own Risk, S6/7 Canon Divergent, So much smut, Top Castiel, Trueform, Wing Kink, canon violence, if you're vanilla this is definitely not for you, mentions of torture, so many, temporary mcd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 108,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishaminion69/pseuds/mishaminion69, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydkn3e/pseuds/sydkn3e
Summary: Castiel teams up with Crowley behind the Winchesters’ backs with the intention of taking in Purgatory souls in a display of dominance over his brother Raphael, who is determined to put the Apocalypse back on the tracks. None of them are prepared for the way the souls consume Castiel, and Dean decides the only way to potentially protect innocent people is to accompany him to Heaven under the pretense of a loyal follower. Dean’s willingness to obey surprises even himself and while he struggles to make Castiel feel human again, he’s forced to confront some very real feelings about his best friend.Edit: Please notice all tags, the character death in here is VERY temporary





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely and talented Captainhaterade on Tumblr and AO3- who is fantastic and I would recommend to anyone! Thank you, my dear!  
> Art credit goes to the supremely talented Irmermurmer on Tumblr!
> 
> Thank you to the mods of this challenge- Lauren and I have had a blast!

 

 

_I believe it’s what you would call a...tragedy, from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is...limited. I don’t know._

Burnt and broken shells. It seems to be a bit of a theme. Hollow shells of men who once believed they were doing the right thing...following a just leader.

_That’s why I’m asking you, Father._

Castiel was a shell once, too. Before he found purpose, a reason to fight, someone to fight for. He tells himself that he’s fighting for humanity, fighting for Dean. He has to believe that. The end always justifies the means. They will die without him. All of them.

_One last time._

Raphael intends to put the Apocalypse back on track. He says it’s “God’s will.” But where exactly is God? None of them know. Cas has been around the Winchesters long enough to know that what’s written is not law. They have free will, all of them, given to them by God himself. They were intended to take their own path.

_Am I doing the right thing?_

But of course, Castiel’s brother refused to hear of that. He’s much too strong, much too powerful. Cas doesn’t stand a chance. Not without doing something drastic. Not without the souls.

_Am I on the right path?_

And Crowley presented him with the opportunity. It’s the only way, as Cas struggled to make the Winchesters understand. In order to stop the restart of the Apocalypse, he has to be stronger than Raphael. Short of God’s help, the souls are his only option. Of course, that doesn’t make a difference to Sam and Dean.

_You have to tell me_.

This needed to be done. Cas knew his own intentions, knew them better than anyone. He knew things that the Winchesters could never understand. And so he went behind their backs,  proceeding with the plan to open the portal to Purgatory and take in the souls. There was only a small hiccup; one he was anticipating, as it turned out: Crowley became unhappy with the distribution of power and turned to Raphael. He was a demon, after all.

_You have to give me...a sign._

But demons are so...predictable.

_Give me a sign._

It was difficult keeping information from Sam and Dean, especially when Crowley was involved. But Crowley and the souls from Purgatory was a necessary evil, or so Cas told himself. Killing Balthazar was another unfortunate necessity, although Cas found it to be inexplicably painful. Tearing down the wall in Sam’s brain wasn’t as easily done as Castiel had anticipated. But the worst part was Dean—intelligent, level-headed Dean—ignoring everything that pointed to Cas’s betrayal in favor of putting his trust in his best friend. He wanted so badly to believe Cas, he almost wished Dean could be right about him. Dean always had faith in him, when nothing and no one else did. Knowing that made it harder.

_Because if you don’t...I’m gonna ju- I’m gonna do whatever I…_

But it didn’t stop him. If anything, it spurred him on. Cas would prove to Dean that he was right about this, that Dean should have had faith in him the whole time. He was going to single-handedly save the world, no thanks to any of them who stood against him. Dean especially. He would restore Dean’s faith in him. He would show Dean that he was right all along.

_Whatever I must._

The ritual went perfectly. Millions, quite possibly billions of souls poured themselves into him as he stood in front of the portal, his arms out wide, back arched with the force of their entry. They created a wind that whipped madly against his face, blowing his hair in all directions, causing him to squint against it. He frowned, staring intently ahead, afraid to close his eyes and miss even one second of the transference of power.

It went faster than he expected. He touched his chest, his stomach, the souls’ power raging and surging inside of him. He looked up with a smile, running a hand through his messy hair.

Suddenly, it was about more than Raphael and preventing the start of the Apocalypse. It was about a much bigger picture. It was about fixing everything that God had screwed up. Cas could do that. He could feel it...he was perfectly capable of being God.

Perhaps he was God now. Perhaps being God had everything to do with the placement of power.

It was never just about a man.

It was about whatever being held the power to change the world; specifically, one who had the courage to do something about it.

So he killed his brother with no more than a snap of his fingers, and let the demon go. He’d need someone to keep an eye on Hell, and he certainly didn’t want to be the one to do it. Logically, he knew he should do something about the Winchesters and Bobby Singer, as they’d stood against him. They all deserved to be killed for their disobedience, and he could not afford to look weak before he’d even begun.

They had been his friends, and now they were scared, by the looks of it. Fear. It was what God wanted from humanity in the first place. Fear...but also respect.

But when he asked them to bow down to him, there was no respect, no love...only fear. Dean tried to talk him into returning the souls, because he did not understand that Castiel’s work was not done. Raphael’s followers, crooked politicians, hypocritical preachers...so much evil in the world that God never addressed. Castiel was going to destroy them all.

His friends were merely appeasing him, bowing only because they were afraid of him. It was insulting. Demeaning.

But he let them go, anyway. They would be far too concerned with Sam’s wellbeing to do anything for a while, and in any case, who would they turn to? Castiel was God, and even the King of Hell was afraid to move against him. One final warning before he left, and the last thing Castiel saw was Sam falling to his knees as the memories of Hell overwhelmed his mind.

\----

The smell of burning hair brings Cas back to the present. He opens his eyes to a beautiful blue sky and looks down. The grass below him is littered with black:  the bodies of his brothers and sisters, scattered all around him. Empty black holes stare back at him where their eyes used to be, their clothes singed and large black wing prints charred into the ground, destroying the perfect green of the grass.

“Understand,” Cas starts, taking a few steps as he looks around, “if you followed Raphael, if you stood against me, punishment is certain; there is nowhere to hide.” He steps over a body, standing intentionally on a imprint of a large wing...Lailah? Dina? He didn’t care enough to take another look.

“The rest of you...our Father left a long time ago, and that was hard. I thought the answer was free will. But I understand now. You _need_ a firm hand. You _need_ a Father. And I am your Father now. Be obedient, children. Or this will be your fate.”

He looks down at the charred wing, scuffing the toe of his shoe against it, spreading the ash around until it is no longer recognizable. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips as he straightens and looks over the burnt and broken shells of his brothers and sisters.

“It is a new day. On earth, and in Heaven. Rejoice.”

\----

_“Cas, c’mon. This is not you.”_

_“The Castiel you knew is gone.”_

_Dean glanced to Sam, then Bobby, swallowing past the pain in his arm, his body, his heart._

_“So, what then? Kill us?”_

_That cold smirk. “What a brave little ant you are. You know you’re powerless. You wouldn’t dare move against me again, that would be pointless.”_

_Castiel paused, tilting his head at Dean, those blue eyes holding nothing but cold detachment as they rest on the human he once called a friend._

_“So I won’t kill you. Not now. Besides…” Another cold, little smile that made Dean’s skin crawl. “Once you were my favorite pets, before you turned and bit me.”_

_“Who are you?” Dean demanded, his body trembling though he worked to hide it._

_“I’m God.”_

 

Dean wakes in a cold sweat, clinging to his sheets and gasping into his pillow. His skin prickles as if he’s still in that cold room, surrounded by blood, with those frigid blue eyes staring into him mercilessly. The shadows of the room press in on him and he feels small, weak, like a child afraid of the dark or the monster under his bed. Reality, however, is even more frightening. The monster is out in the world and it’s his fault.

Dean roughly rips the covers off himself and crawls out of bed, shivering when the air hits his damp skin. It’s the middle of the night, but he’s not getting any more sleep. He throws on some jeans and flannel, combs his fingers through his hair, and quietly makes his way downstairs.

Bobby and Sam are still asleep, which is just fine. They’d only ask questions  Dean doesn’t have any answers to. He grabs a few beers and heads outside, eyes going straight to the hunk of metal that used to be Baby. He can fix her. The world, Cas, everything else is doomed. But the car he can fix. He can work on her until she’s perfect.

Dan cracks open the first beer, switches on a few outdoor lights, turns on the radio, and gets to work.

\----

“So, are you fixin’ her or primal screamin’?”

Dean grunts and drops his legs onto the front seat, a little startled to hear Bobby’s voice. A quick blink and glance tells him it’s now late morning. He sighs and slides forward as Bobby opens the door. He crawls out of the car and stretches his back, taking the offered beer absently.

“How’s Sam?” he asks, though he knows the answer.

“Still under, but alive.”

Dean hums and walks past Bobby. “How ‘bout God, part deux?”

Bobby stares after him as he starts casting his eyes about,  clearly only half listening. “Got all kinds of feelers out. So far diddly.”

Dean nods distractedly, picking up a tool then discarding it almost immediately. “And what exactly are you looking for?”

“Exactly:  what?” Bobby throws his arms out. “Miracles, mass visions, trenchcoat on a tortilla—I dunno what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean murmurs, wiping his hands on a greasy towel. “He’ll surface.” Not that Dean wants him to surface. Not that creature wearing Cas’s face.

“Say we do find where new and improved flew off to,” Bobby says, casting Dean a glance. “The hell do we plan to do about it?”

“Well, I don’t know, Bobby,” Dean says, turning away from the man and heading back to the car, mallet in hand. “Got not more clue than you do.”

“I don’t even know what books to hit for this, Dean.”

“Well, figure it out!” Dean finally snaps, turning to glare at the older man. Bobby stares at him from under his cap, lips pressed together.

Dean sighs and bows his head, then shakes it slightly, feeling so tired all the sudden. No sleep is starting to catch up to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up. “This ain’t in no book. If you stick your neck out, Cas steps on it.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“So you know what I’m gonna do?” Dean says, turning to face the beat up Impala.

“What?”

“I’m-a fix this car. ‘Cause that’s what I _can_ do.”

\----

Baby, however, only offers Dean so much distraction. Even after Sam finally wakes up and—aside from some creepy ass hallucinations—seems to be doing okay, Dean finds his mind wandering back to Cas. No matter what he does, his thoughts are saturated with the angel. He wants desperately to pray to Cas, but is too afraid. Too afraid of what might answer, too afraid of those cold eyes breaking his heart all over again. Out of some sick, masochistic need, while he works on the car Dean religiously listens to the radio for the latest updates on their new God.

_“Sudden deaths of some 200 religious leaders are currently under investigation.”_

“ _Some are already calling this_ **_an act of God_ ** _.”_

They come in slowly at first, but become more frequent within days. Dean listens to every word as he fixes the doors, the windshield, puts on new tires. It makes him want to claw at his ears off, smash the radio, the TV. Instead, he merely keeps listening as his friend, his angel, the one who has saved him countless times, ravages the world like a bloodthirsty beast. Maybe he simply can’t accept it. Maybe he doesn’t want to. He’s holding onto that memory of what and who Cas used to be.

_“...that members of the Klu Klux Klan have been forced to disband.”_

_“...This tragedy represents the largest loss in New Age Motivational Speaker history…”_

The images on the TV grow worse each day. The death toll is beginning to build. But it’s Cas that scares Dean the most. Every little flash of his face and Dean sees the skin stretching, the muscle beneath it bleeding as it gives out, the vessel _failing,_ slowing but surely. It’s a grotesque sight, ugly and wrong. Nothing at all like what Dean knew his angel was. _Is_.

Dean likes to think his Cas is still in there somewhere. That underneath all that power, his friend is trying to break free but simply isn’t strong enough to get through. The thought both comforts and terrifies Dean. Wakes him every night with his heart hammering in his chest and tears sliding down his cheeks. It’s worse each time, the image of Cas reaching out to him, fingers outstretched. But Dean’s grip fails and Cas plunges into darkness.

He can barely sleep anymore and works tirelessly on the car instead, despite Sam’s (who had more than his share of his own problems and shouldn’t be worrying about his big brother) and Bobby’s worried glances and attempts to get him to rest. There is no resting, no peace, when all he can see when he closes his eyes is his angel falling, fading, because Dean can never hold on tight enough. When all he can see is Cas falling apart, his body disintegrating and melting, dying a horrible death.

He has the realization that maybe he’s taking this harder than anyone else because it hurt him the most. That maybe the real reason he’s stalling on moving against Cas isn’t fear or the lack of a plan, but because—despite everything—he can’t bear the thought of killing him.

_“There must be something_ ,” _Sam had said._ “ _Something that can hurt him.”_

_“He’s God,” Dean answered blankly. “There’s nothing.”_

Yes, he likes to think his angel is in there. Like his Baby is somewhere in this scrap of metal he’s been slowing putting back together. Maybe, just like Baby, Cas needs some care, some attention, from someone who knows him best to get back up and running.

_Maybe,_ Dean thinks tiredly as he lowers her hood slowly, if he handles Cas _just right,_ he can bring out whatever is left of his angel.

The hood thunks into place and Dean stares down at the dull black surface, the night air cooling his sweaty skin. She doesn’t look so good right now, but Dean finds her beautiful anyway. Baby is his home, no matter what. He cares for her more than any man should for a car. Sam didn’t always understand it and Bobby just plain thinks it’s weird, but Dean doesn’t care. He loves her and he’ll nurture her until she’s purring to life once again. Even she makes him hurt and bleed for it. For every scrape and cut and bruise he’s given, a piece of her is restored.

Dean blinks down at her cold surface and the wheels in his head start to turn.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re joking.”

Dean turns quickly, his heart jumping into his throat. Of course, he _needed_ the summoning spell to work. It had to, or else the rest of his plan has failed before he can even try. Still, a small part of him had faintly hoped it wouldn’t. Coming face to face with Death not once, but twice, was more than enough.

“No-no, it’s not what it looks like,” Dean stammers out, swallowing the urge to grab his gun. Not that it would do much good. Nothing could help Dean if this little meeting went south.

“It looks like you’ve bound me,” Death holds up a pale wrist and the translucent chains holding him dangle daintily, looking far too weak to hold a Horseman.

“Please, hear me out,” Dean says, taking a step towards the table where he’s laid out a feast of grease and fat. “Fried pickle chip? Best in the state.”

“That easy to soothe me, you think?” Death arches a brow as he leans on his cane. “This is about Sam’s hallucinations, I assume-”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “This is…it’s about Cas.”

Death taps a finger on the head of his cane. “Ah, yes, our ‘new god’, is it?” He snorts and takes a seat next to the table, opening up the greasy bag of food. “You want me to reap him then?”

“No,” Dean says again, flinching when Death pauses and pins him down with those cold dark eyes.

“Pardon?”

Dean closes his eyes, briefly, gathering up his courage. He has to do this, for all their sakes. Or, at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Deep down, he knows the real reason, and it has nothing to do with saving the world.

“I need you to help me save him.”

“Save him.” Death scoffs and dips his hand into the bag, pulling out one of the pickle chips and popping it into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully for a moment, watching Dean. “It doesn’t seem to me that he needs saving.”

Dean shakes his head, running a trembling hand through his hair. “His vessel is failing.” He pauses, but Death merely pops another pickle into his mouth. “He’s gonna die.”

Death chews slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Would that be the worst thing?”

Dean inhales slowly, fists clenched at his sides. He had the argument planned out in his head, knew what he wanted to say, but his breath catches in his throat now. Maybe Death would sense the lie. Or, more likely, just didn’t care either way. 

“He…” Dean coughs, his voice rough. “He’s a friggin’ A-bomb. If he explodes, he’s going to take half the planet with him.”

“Indeed,” Death nods, wiping his face with a napkin and crumpling it in his hand, throwing it into the bag before looking back up at Dean. “And I warned you of this, did I not? Months ago. But did you listen? It appears not.” 

“I know, okay?” Dean growls out, momentarily forgetting who exactly he was talking to. “But it’s done and now we have to deal with it. You must know. You gotta have some spell or...  _ something _ to fix his vessel.”

Death quirks an eyebrow, tapping a slender finger against the top of his cane. “I have a spell that can potentially prolong the strength of his vessel, but nothing I know of can contain that kind of power forever. It will only serve to draw out the inevitable.  _ If _ I help...I trust you can come up with an alternate plan by then?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, his teeth grinding. An alternate plan. Yeah, right. If he had another plan, he wouldn’t be summoning Death into the middle of Bobby’s living room. 

“Yes,” he lies through his teeth, looking Death in the eye. “I’ll come up with something. I just need time.”

Death eyes him for a long moment before finally nodding, leaning heavily on his cane as he stands. 

“Very well.” Out of thin air, Death produces a piece of old parchment paper with scrawled handwriting and hands it to Dean. “In the meantime, you will need to contain him. I don’t care how. Clean up your mess, Dean, or I will be back to reap you and your friend.”

Dean glances down at the ancient piece of paper. When he looks back up, Death is gone. Dean swallows and wonders if he actually had Death bound at all, or if the Horseman had just been humoring him.

He looks back down at the spell, which looked worryingly simple. Doubts plague him, but he pushes them aside. He can’t afford to fail. His Cas, the one buried underneath all that power, is still in there. He knows what he’s doing is selfish, but he also knows that he can’t lose Cas. 

Dean is halfway through his fifth of whiskey by the time Bobby and Sam get back from their beer run, sitting at the kitchen table as he turns the glass on the surface of the wood and chews his bottom lip.

“Hey,” Sam greets, perhaps a little too nonchalantly. He crosses the kitchen and deposits his bag on the counter, pulling out a six pack. “Anything on Cas yet?”

“Ah, no…” Dean clears his throat and drowns the last of his glass. “No, nothing. Guess even God needs a break, huh?” He smiles humorlessly and grabs a beer, cracking it open quickly and taking a sip. 

“How about you?” He looks up at Sam, frowning slightly. “How’s, uh…” Dean gestures vaguely to Sam’s head. “You know,  _ that _ going?”

Sam opens his own beer and takes a large gulp before holding the bottle out in front of him, inspecting it. His eyebrows knit together as he shrugs.

“I’m handling it. I can tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not. But, you know. We have bigger problems right now.”

Dean sighs and taps a finger on the grimy surface of the table. “Yeah...yeah.” He rubs at the back of his neck and gulps down half his bottle. “Look, you know what, I’m beat. I’m just gonna get a few hours in.”

He pushes away his beer and stands, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dean leaves Sam and Bobby to bicker over the mountain of problems they can’t solve and heads upstairs, the spell heavy in his pocket.

It’s some time later when Dean finally hears Bobby and Sam shuffle off to their respective rooms, both pleasantly drunk if their stumbling on the steps is any indication. Dean stays in bed until he hears the telltale squeak of Sam’s bed as he lays down, then throws the covers off himself and flips on the lamp. He pulls the spell out of the bedside table and studies it, running a thumb over the messy scrawl.

The minutes tick by. He’s stalling and he knows it. Cas’s warning rings in his head.

_ “Step out of line, and I’ll destroy you.” _

Dean will admit it. He’s afraid. Terrified. This Cas isn’t his. Doesn’t think like him. There’s a big chance that praying to Cas is an automatic death sentence. It’s a risk he ultimately decides that he has to take.

Dean carefully puts the spell in his pocket and stands, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. He needs to leave, get somewhere away from Bobby and Sam in case things go sideways. Taking the car is out of the question, though; Baby’s engine is much too loud and the terrain at Bobby’s is too harsh for Dean to push her away from the house by himself. He opts to sneak out to the garage where he can hopefully avoid waking Bobby and Sam, easing the door closed behind him. He cuts on the small lamp in the corner, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Cas…” he clears his throat, but his voice still comes out rough. “Castiel. Um...I don’t know if you can hear me...or...or if you even care. But, I...want to talk to you. I think I can help you. Please, Cas…”

Several minutes pass while Dean waits, his breathing shallow, body rigid, looking around the garage like he won’t notice Cas when he appears... _ if  _ he appears. He’s almost ready to give up when he finally hears him.

It’s not so much a flap of wings this time as a loud whooshing noise, suffocating, like it took all of the air out of the room with it. Cas isn’t there, then he is, and he’s the same Castiel but also larger than life. He stands stoic and emotionless in the middle of the poorly lit garage, his hands relaxed at his sides. His lips part, barely, but he says nothing at first, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

“I took mercy on you and your brother, Dean. Why do you test me?”

“Wait, wait,” Dean holds up a hand, instinctively taking a step back though he knows it does him no good. No amount of distance can protect him from the creature in front of him. “I just…”

Dean closes his eyes, pushes aside all sense of pride he has, then slowly sinks to his knees. He inhales shakily and looks up at Castiel. “I want to...make it up to you.” He winces inwardly at the splotches on Cas’s face, the deteriorating skin on his hands. The vessel looks worse than it had on TV. They didn’t have a lot of time left. Did Cas not notice it? Or was he so confident in his new power now that he didn’t think it mattered?

“Cas, your vessel,” Dean starts, choosing his words carefully. “I’m worried. You’re...so powerful now, it won’t hold you anymore. We don’t want to lose our new God, do we?” He manages a painful smile then quickly pulls the spell from his pocket. 

“I can help,” Dean fidgets with the paper. “I can strengthen your vessel. So you can...keep fixing all those things the old god ignored.”

Cas looks down at him, nostrils flaring, his jaw clenched. “I’m not so naive as to believe that you would help me without getting something in return. We were friends, remember? I know you, Dean. I know how you operate.”

Cas scoffs and rolls his shoulders back, glancing around briefly before looking down at his hands, flexing them under his gaze. 

“My vessel will be fine. I can repair it, once my work is finished.”

Feeling either brave or stupid—it’s hard to tell anymore—Dean shakes his head, the paper crumpling in his hand. “No, Cas. It won’t.” He shifts on his knees, his whole body trembling. His eyes sting, the realization coming full force that Cas cares nothing for him now, but it doesn’t matter. Dean is going to take what he can get. 

“You have too much work to do,” Dean says quickly. “The vessel won’t last. Please, Cas, let me help.” He sighs and looks down. “You’re right. I...I  _ would _ like something in return. Sam…” he looks up, eyes pleading. “Cas, please, just fix him. I’m sorry we stood against you. We were wrong. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Just heal him...that’s all I want.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, clenching his fists. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

Dean shrugs, shoulders sagging slightly. “You’re God. Can’t you read my mind?” He holds out the parchment, the spell scrawled across it. “It’s real. I promise.”

Cas watches him for a moment, reading his face. Finally, his stance relaxes just a little, and he takes a step back, looking around the garage.

“Stand up, Dean. This is insincere. It’s embarrassing, frankly, for both of us.”

Dean watched as he took a few steps toward the wall, raising a hand absently to touch one of the pictures Bobby had hung up. Bobby was standing in between Dean, who was probably in high school and sporting the old Winchester leather jacket, and Sam, who was in middle school, and small for a boy who turned into a mountain of a man.

Dean slowly stands, never taking his eyes off of Castiel. He’s still alive and he didn’t expect that at all. And now, watching Cas gaze at a modest collection of pictures, Dean feels the faintest stirrings of hope. For just a moment, Cas almost looks like himself again. Dean’s heart lurches, though, because he knows it won’t last. 

Dean doesn’t dare speak a word, so he stands somewhat awkwardly behind Cas and looks at pictures he hasn’t looked at it in years. The photos seem surreal to him, taken from another time, another life. Things were so much simpler back then. Monsters were bad, demons were rare, and there were no such things as angels.

Dean catches a glimpse of Cas’s reflection in the glass of the picture as his forefinger paused along the wood of the frame. His face is bloody, the skin stretched thin and tearing, revealing the muscle and sinew underneath. He moves his hand to his face, barely brushing a torn patch of skin, his jaw clenching. His vessel truly is failing, and Dean finds it’s much more difficult to see it happening in person than on the television, where it was easier for him to disassociate himself with the person on the screen.

Cas turns back to Dean, pulling irritably at the tie around his neck.

“If you can restore my vessel, I will heal Sam. You have my word.”

Dean breathes an audible sigh of relief and steps forward. Being near Cas had his skin prickling from the raw power leaking out. He hands over the spell, their fingers brushing briefly. Dean gasps at the spark that hits his fingers and pulls back quickly. 

“Looks fairly simple,” Dean mutters. “You’ll need my blood to draw the symbols on your chest…” He shrugs and pulls out a knife. 

Cas looks over the parchment, smoothing it with a thumb. He looks back up to find Dean staring intently, his hand palm up, holding the knife. Tossing the parchment to the floor, Cas takes the knife and holds Dean’s hand still, slicing across his palm with one quick movement. 

Dean instinctively cups his palm as Cas tosses the knife onto the floor and pulls at his tie, loosening it enough to undo the buttons on his shirt and pull it open wide so that the symbols can be painted across his chest.

Cas presses his lips into a thin line as he eyes Dean, still cupping his bleeding hand to his chest, his eyes wide with fear. He sighs irritably.

“Are you going to do the spell or must I?”

Dean snaps his eyes up and shakes his head, visibly clearing away his thoughts. “No, no... I have to do it.” 

He steps forward, holding his palm out, and dips a finger into the blood. The symbols already burned into his brain, Dean begins to carefully draw them out. Sparks of something—electricity, power, maybe just nervous energy—shoots through his hand with each touch to Cas’s skin. 

Once the symbols are done, Dean quickly wraps up his palm and starts chanting. He has no idea what he’s saying—Latin was never his strong suit—but as long as they do their job he isn’t going to think too much about it. 

The symbols on Cas’s chest begin to glow as Dean recites the spell, burning so ferociously that if Castiel was human it would surely be excruciating. Dean watches as the skin on Cas’s face and hands pulls itself back together, and Cas closes his eyes as his grace shimmers under his skin, the remnants of it in his irises when he opens them again.

Cas looks down at his hands, open and closing his palms, turning them over, inspecting them. The skin is healed and healthy, almost glowing with the aftereffects of the spell. He touches his face. A smile pulls at his lips, slowly at first and widening, and he looks back up at Dean.

“You’ve done well, Dean. I feel...stronger than ever.”

Dean swallows, feeling a sense of both pride and foreboding. He can’t be sure if he’s made the right choice. The odds are he just doomed himself and the rest of the world, but the alternative was losing Cas. And in the end, no matter how much Cas has changed, Dean can't stand to lose him. 

“Good, Cas…” he nods, setting the paper aside. “That’s good.”

He sighs, feeling exhausted suddenly, and sits on an old stool. “You’ll...fix Sam now?” Dean asks tentatively. 

Cas begins to re-button his shirt, leaving the tie hanging around his neck and completely disregarding Dean’s blood soaking through his white shirt. His smile fades as he buttons the top button, and his hands drop to his sides as he stares past Dean at the wall, sighing deeply. 

“You didn’t tell Bobby or Sam about this.” Cas tilts his head, cracking his neck, before turning his attention back to Dean. “Why?”

Dean bites his lip, rubbing his palms over his knees. He stares at the floor, at the years of dirt and grime, hoping Cas can’t hear his mind churning. 

“They wouldn’t understand,” Dean says finally, looking up at cold blue eyes. Eyes that used to be so warm. “It’s better this way.”

“They still do not have faith. In me, or the work I have to do,” Cas states plainly, his hands twitching at his sides. “I rebelled and gave up everything for you. I stopped the apocalypse again...for all of you. And yet you still stand against me.” He takes a step closer to Dean, looking down at him. “What about you, Dean? Do you have faith?”

Dean flinches, at war with himself. Once again doubts flare up, poking holes in his plan, his reasoning. But it’s too late. Whether he’s made the right choice or not, he will go through with it. And maybe Sammy, Bobby, and most of the world will survive. 

“Yes, Cas,” Dean says as he looks up, meeting that hard gaze. “I have faith in you. You...you’re my God now. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” 

Cas draws his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze softening marginally. “I try to put your needs first. I am trying to be a better God than my father. Don’t you understand?”

Dean resists the urge to reach out. Even now, after everything, he wants to comfort his friend. “I understand now,” he says softly. “Sam and Bobby….they’ll understand, too. Once you show them, once you fix everything…” 

Cas’s eyebrows draw together as he nods, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he gives a look around the garage. 

“Where is Sam?”

Dean lets out a breath. “The house.”

“Take me to him.”

Dean jumps up and leads Cas inside, up the stairs, and quietly down the hall. He cracks the door open and is relieved to see Sam still asleep. 

He steps aside, letting Cas walk ahead of him. Dean keeps the corner of his eye on the hall, half expecting Bobby to pop out any second. Old coot is more paranoid than anyone he knows. 

Dean watches as Cas approaches Sam with his head cocked to the side. Sam is breathing heavily out of his mouth, his hair tousled and half covering his face. Cas looks down at him from the head of the bed and gently places his palm across Sam’s forehead. 

Cas closes his eyes and frowns in concentration, and Dean imagines the pieces of Sam’s brain actually melding themselves back together. Somehow, the visual helps.

Several minutes later, Sam’s mind is restored and Cas opens his eyes, slowly removing his hand from Sam’s forehead and taking a step back before finally turning back to Dean.

“He’ll need to rest for the next day or so, but he will be fine. He’s whole again.”

Dean sags, relief flooding him. It feels as if a huge weight is lifted from his shoulders, his chest. Now, no matter what happens, it will be worth it. As long as his baby brother is okay. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, sincere and grateful. “Thank you, Cas.” 

Dean breaks his gaze from the hall to look at the angel. He pretends this is his Cas. He imagines he didn’t have to sell his soul so Cas would help him. He likes to think, just for a moment, that Cas did this because he cares. 

Cas’ lips are pressed into a thin line when he turns back to face Dean, and he gives a stiff nod.

“I need to be going now. There is much to be done.” Cas sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Consider us even now, Dean. If you stand against me again, I will strike you down. I am warning you now...do not attempt to interfere with my work.”

Dean shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “No, Cas...I don’t want to interfere. Actually…” He clears his throat and, after a moment of hesitation, steps toward Cas. He glances at Sam, still sleeping peacefully, and his resolve hardens. His life for Sammy’s—and the rest of the world—was a small price to pay.

“I want to help you,” Dean says, keeping his eyes cast down. Obedient. Must be obedient. “You can do it all yourself, of course,” he adds quickly. “But after all the trouble I gave you, I would like to.. _.serve  _ you.” Dean keeps from biting his tongue and presses forward. “Every God needs a servant, right? I could be yours.”

“You want to...serve me,” Cas repeats, his gaze fixed on Dean. “I’m not sure what you could do for me, Dean. Your moral compass will surely keep you from agreeing with much of what I need to do. How exactly will you be of service to me?”

Dean hesitates, but only briefly. “However you want me to be.” He chances a glance up, trying to look as disarming as possible. “I’ll obey. I swear it. My soul is yours.”

He inhales slowly, deeply. Dean had told himself he’d never be stupid enough to sell his soul again, and yet here he is. Offering it up on a silver platter to last person he’d ever thought he’d be giving it to.

Cas narrows his eyes and turns back to Dean fully, squaring his shoulders, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

“Interesting.” He cocks his head to the side, his mouth quirking in the corner. “It may prove to be...beneficial...to have a human by my side. Although I must warn you, humans in Heaven…” He shakes his head slightly, “Outside of those rightfully there, it is frowned upon. It may be unpleasant for you, at times. Still…”

He takes another step forward, back to Dean, his eyes flitting back and forth over his features. 

“I could use another by my side. If you are sincere, if you promise to stand behind me, to serve me...that will become your job. There will be no coming back.”

Dean nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He expected this, but it’s a hard reality to accept. To never see Sam or Bobby again is going to be difficult...near impossible. They are all the family he has left. All the more reason to do this. To protect them.

“Yes, I understand,” Dean murmurs. “I’ll do whatever you want, Cas.”

Without another word, Cas closes the space between them and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, transporting them from the dark, quaint space of Bobby’s home to a bright, sterile hallway with limestone floors and doors lining the walls on either side. The hallway seems to go on forever in both directions, and Cas starts down the left hall, not even looking back to make sure Dean is following. They walk silently, only the sound of their shoes shuffling against the stone floor echoing off the walls. After what feels like an eternity, they finally reach the end, and Cas pushes open large doors to reveal—for lack of a better description—a throne room.

Much later, when Dean isn’t so lost in his head, thinking about how Cas had whisked him away from his family forever without letting him say so much as a goodbye, he will recall the vastness of the throne room. How walking into it is like stepping inside a fantasy novel. The floor like the night sky, dark and sparkling beneath his feet. Pillars on either side stand impossibly tall, carved with Enochian symbols and murals of heavenly battles. Stained glass windows line the walls, casting an array of colors across the dark floor, some Dean has never seen before.

And at the center of it all is the throne, sitting proudly atop stone steps. It’s huge, the back towering high, its seat cushion silky. Dark, like looking into the deep recesses of space.

All of this, Dean will see and even appreciate, in time. Now, though, as he trails behind Castiel, all he thinks about is the family he’s left behind and the creature who owns his soul.

A creature that Dean is seeing a real glimpse of for the first time. Even through his muddled mind, Dean can’t help but gasp at the sight of Castiel’s wings. They are huge, towering above Castiel’s head. Six, extending from his back, and dark...black, except that isn’t quite right. Dean blinks, trying to focus on them, but can’t. The sheen on them shifts, blues mixing and fading under the light. Dean’s fingers twitch and he aches to touch them. The feathers, if that’s what they are, look both soft and razor sharp. Dean imagines these things cutting through air, storms, throats. The muscles look strong, strong enough to crush a skull. 

Dean feels a shiver down his spine and he forces his eyes to look away. His heart pounds in fear...and excitement. He takes a breath, and then another, digging his nails into his palms and feels the sting from the cut. The pain grounds him, clears his head, and Dean focuses on his task. Survival. 

Castiel strides up the steps to the throne, finally turning back to Dean. He sits slowly, watching as Dean takes in the room around them.

“I will be leaving shortly, as I’ve been given news of the location of some of Raphael’s followers.” He sits back, his thumb running absently over his pointer finger. “What will you require before my absence?”

Dean blinks, forcing his mind to the present. He pushes Sam and Bobby from his mind and tentatively steps forward. “...Absence?” He licks his lips, standing at the bottom step. “Of course it’s your choice, but it would be difficult for me to serve you if I stay here.”

Dean moves to step up, but stops himself. He doesn’t know his place yet. “We both know I can hold my own against angels. I could come with you. Besides,” his lips curl into a snarl, “I wouldn’t mind sticking a blade in one or two myself.”

For the first time, Dean isn’t having to lie. He isn’t here to save angels, the cowardly fuckers who have done nothing but give him trouble. His only concern is the humans on Cas’s radar. If Cas wants to smite some angels, Dean is more than willing to help.

Cas lets his elbows rest on the arms of the throne as he considers Dean’s offer, chewing the inside of his cheek. A smile slowly pulls at his lips and he barely nods, rapping his knuckles on the hard stone. 

“Very well. I’ll inform the others.” 

He closes his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again and training them on Dean’s form once more. Not that staring was anything new for Cas, but now it’s colder, and much more disconcerting.

Silence stretches between the two of them, bordering on uncomfortable, before two angels enter the room, the heavy stone door making a scraping sound as it closes. They approach the steps with eyes on Castiel, barely registering Dean’s presence as he steps to the side.

“Sir?” one angel asks. Her dark, curly hair cascades down past her shoulders, in stark contrast to her muted, gray clothing. 

“Dumah,” Castiel greets, nodding at her, “will you and Cael please ready a room for Dean? He will be staying here with us and I would like for him to be comfortable.” Cas stands, smoothing his tie. “In the meantime, I have information on the whereabouts of some of Raphael’s followers, and he will be accompanying me to abolish that threat.”

The two angels finally seem to notice the human standing a few steps from them. Cael merely gives Dean a side glance, nothing more. Dumah’s look is longer, full of disdain, like he’s a squashed bug beneath her shoe.

“...Forgive me, Castiel,” she says, turning back to him. “I mean no offense to your judgment, but how can... _ that _ ...possibly be useful to you? It’s only human.”

Cael stiffens beside her and, Dean notices, takes a subtle step aside. Dean scowls, but bites his tongue. It will hardly do him good to start a row with Cas’s followers his first day on the job.

Cas clenches his jaw and slowly advances back down the steps, his hands moving to rest in the pockets of his trench, his shoes scuffing along the stone floor until he finally reaches them and stops in front of her, inches from her face.

“Forgive  _ me _ , Dumah,” he says condescendingly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before letting it go, “but I do not believe I asked for your opinion.”

Dean isn’t bothering to hide his smirk as Dumah trembles under Castiel’s cold gaze. She nods mutely and bows her head, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Yes, Castiel,” she whispers, knuckles white against her skin. “I’m so sorry. Yes, of course, we’ll get a room ready for him. The best we have.”

Cael nods next to her and the two disappear quickly, practically fighting to be first. Dean suppresses a laugh, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

“That...was kind of awesome,” Dean’s lip twitches. “You know how to crack the whip, Cas.”

Cas turns his attention back to Dean, his expression sincere. He places a possessive hand on the back of Dean’s neck and they’re moving again, room spinning and wind whipping as Castiel teleports them.

When they land this time, it’s outside of what appears to be an abandoned shipyard, and Castiel takes off up the ramp to one of the ships, his arms swinging by his sides with each confident step. As if it’s an afterthought, his blade slides from the inside of his sleeve, and he hands it back to Dean.

Dean takes the blade and falls into step behind Cas. It’s quiet around them, the air still, an ambush waiting for them. Dean shakes his head, almost pitying the poor fools waiting inside. They were either stupid or suicidal. Cas is too strong now. It doesn’t matter how many are waiting for them. Cas will crush them all. 

And Dean is going to watch it happen. He tells himself he’ll focus only on saving as many people as he can. The angels are on their own. They are the ones who started the stupid heavenly civil war in the first place. Let them take the punishment.  

“They think they can ambush you,” Dean snorts, twirling the blade in his hands. 

Cas barely hears him, too focused on the hushed whispers in his mind, helping him to hone in on the exact location of the handful of angels hiding out inside the empty ship. The first attack comes seconds after he enters, and with a snap of his fingers the angel was atomized without Dean even getting a good look at them. 

Dean follows close behind, blade ready. As Cas rounds a corner, another angel pops out between them. The angel lunges for Dean, desperation is his eyes, and Dean meets him head on. Their blades clash, sparks flying. Dean grunts, pushing back, but it’s like trying to move a steel beam. So Dean releases his blade, untangling himself from the angel, and drops to the floor. He snatches up the blade, rolls into his back, and thrusts it up. 

The blade catches in the angel’s gut. He cries out, his grace flashing out, before the body crumbles to the floor. 

Dean quickly gets to his feet, blade in hand, and eyes the ashy imprint of wings on the concrete floor. 

Cas turns to Dean, his lips parted as he exhales a puff of air, his nostrils flaring. His eyes roam Dean’s form for a moment, inspecting him, before giving a sharp nod and turning back, re-bracing himself as they make their way through the ship.

They both move slowly through the corridor, Cas not even bothering to glance into any of the rooms along the way. They reach the end of the corridor and Cas stops, turning to his right and pausing only briefly before entering a large room, the sound of their shoes shuffling against the floor echoing throughout the space.

They make it to the center of the room before Cas turns in time to grab the angel by the throat, just as he raises his blade to Dean, lifting him easily off his feet. The angel’s blade clatters to the floor as he raises his hands to his own neck, feebly attempting to pry Castiel’s hand away. A hint of a smile plays across Cas’s face as he flexes his hand, crushing the angel’s windpipe easily and dropping him to the floor, jabbing his abandoned angel blade through his chest and watching the light leave his eyes.

Dean shields his eyes from the light and turns away just in time to see another one coming at him from the hall. Coward had waited until they’d been distracted by the other angel’s death. Dean flips his blade and spins, catching the angel’s arm and lifting before stabbing the blade through his chest. Light flashes and another pair of ashy wings stain the concrete.

Dean breathes deep and fast, casting his sharp eyes around the room. It’s still now, and he tightens his hold on the blade. “What, they don’t want to play anymore?” he growls, mostly to himself. He hates this cat-and-mouse shit. These games that monsters always insist on playing. He’s ready to go, ready to take out some frustration on these dicks with wings.

Cas closes his eyes, listening for the last angel he sensed when they entered the old ship, but he hears nothing.

“The last one has fled,” he scoffs irritably, tucking the blade back inside his coat. He cuts his eyes over to Dean, rolling his shoulders back, wincing slightly. “It’s infuriating...having to track them all down. So many in hiding, refusing to pledge themselves to my service.” He pulls at the collar of his jacket, taking one last look around the room.

Dean grunts in disappointment and slips his blade into his jacket. He pokes his head out into the hall, looking back and forth. “Yeah, well, you’ll find them sooner or later,” he sighs, turning back to Cas. “They’ll run out of places to hide.”

Dean frowns and arches a brow, watching Cas roll his shoulders again. “Cas, you hurt or something?” He takes a few steps forward, but stops a few feet away. The old camaraderie, the familiarity he used to feel with Cas, is gone. Castiel is unpredictable now, at best. Dean can’t decide how to act around him anymore. It’s like an itch he can’t reach.

“Relax, Dean,” Cas says dismissively, inclining his head to the door and making his way outside, “as long as I have your respect, as long as you obey me, you don’t have to worry for your life.”

Cas can see Dean watching him as they start down the ramp back into the shipyard, and he tilts his head back and forth, trying to alleviate some of the pain between his shoulders. 

“And it’s nothing to concern yourself with,” he adds gruffly, avoiding meeting Dean’s eyes. “I will be fine.”

Dean chews on his cheek, biting back the urge to argue. The guy may be all-powerful now, but Cas is still shit at lying. He quickly looks over Cas’s form, a momentary panic taking hold. But, no, the vessel is fine. No splotches, no blood, no tissue hanging off. The spell isn’t failing.

“...Okay,” Dean sighs, running a hand through his short hair. “Sure. Fine.” Obedience. Tougher than he’d thought it would be. “So the last one ran off with his tail between his legs. You want to sniff him out? Or let him stew?”

Cas stops, looking around them as he rubs the back of his neck, finally turning his attention back to Dean.

“He’ll surface. I have more to worry about than one low-level angel.” He takes a step forward, holding his hand up tentatively. “Are you ready to go?”

Dean pauses, blinking down at the offered hand, then back up at Cas. The angel is going to give him whiplash, the way he runs hot and cold all the time. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Dean meets that outstretched hand, fingers brushing against his shoulder, and once again Cas whisks him away.

Dean blinks and they are back in Heaven, the strange floor of the throne room shimmering beneath his feet. He shakes his head slightly, always dizzy after flying—if one could call it that—and braces himself for the sight of Cas’s wings.

He needn’t have bothered, though. Cas is already walking away, gesturing lazily to Cael who stands nearby. 

“Show Dean to his room,” is all Cas says before he’s disappearing through a door behind the throne. 

Dean’s fists clench at his sides, swallowing past the hurt and odd sting of rejection, and follows Cael silently. The angel doesn’t speak or even look at Dean, which is perfectly fine with him. He doesn’t have any intention of making friends here. 

Cael doesn’t stick around, either, once he’s shown his new home for the foreseeable future. Dean lets the door close behind her and stands in the middle of the vast space. The turmoil of emotions inside him knot his stomach. He stumbles to the bed, a huge thing that feels softer than a cloud, and falls to his back. He looks up blankly. There is no ceiling, just the endless emptiness of space. 

There is a strange, light breeze in the room. The sheer, black canopy around the bed flutters gently. The temperature is perfect. Light seems to come from nowhere, soft and relaxing. Like a summer evening.

Any other time it would be beautiful. Dean doesn’t notice any of it. The beauty and comfort is lost on him. All he feels, all he sees, is that he’s alone. It leaves him breathless, his chest tightening. He curls in on himself, arms coming up protectively, and closes his eyes. 

Slowly, his mind slips away, and blissful darkness takes him.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas closes himself in his room and leans back against the door, letting his head fall back against the cold stone, his eyes sliding shut. He’d been unsure about bringing Dean to Heaven in the first place, and although he proved to be helpful today, Cas isn’t entirely confident in the decision. 

It’s not that he particularly cares about snatching Dean from his home with no opportunity to say goodbye; Bobby and Sam were even less understanding of Castiel’s chosen path than Dean. But Cas is conflicted having Dean here. He needs someone by his side that can talk to him...someone who’s a confidante and willing to fight along beside him. Of course, he’s physically capable of doing that himself, but having Dean be that person gives him a sense of reassurance...a confidence. He’s perfectly aware of the fact that the angels here are only submitting to him because the alternative is death. Castiel thought he’d be okay with that knowledge, but as it turns out, it’s more unsettling than he originally thought.

After all, what’s the point of ruling if you’re not respected? If you’re not...loved?

He opens his eyes, staring blankly at the great expanse above him. With a heavy sigh he heaves himself off the door and strides across the room to a great balcony, framed with long shimmering drapes that hang from high above the arched doorway. Stepping out onto it feels like entering a new world, the scenery surrounding him ever-changing and always aesthetically pleasing. Now it’s a nightscape with stars littering the sky and the moon large and bright. There’s never technically night or day in Heaven...time doesn’t exist in the same capacity as it does on Earth, or in Hell, for that matter. Time in Hell passes much more quickly than it does on Earth, but time in Heaven, while parallel to Earth’s...it makes people feel like all the time in the world has passed while simultaneously none at all.

Cas leans forward onto the wrought iron bannister, clasping his hands over the side. He finally lets himself relax, letting his shoulders sag and his wings droop lazily to his sides, almost pooling on the ground. They’re aching terribly—the kind of pain that would be excruciating if he was still a regular angel—but even as a god they’re giving him trouble, so much so that even Dean had noticed.

Cas scoffs and lets his head fall forward, looking down at the ground far below. He adjusts his shoulders and his wings twitch painfully, so he squeezes his eyes shut to block out the pain. Opening them, he examines his right wing, finally reaching down to run his fingers through the feathers. Outwardly they appear fine, but the joints are on fire, especially where the wings meet his shoulders.

He lets out a long groan and lowers his forehead to his forearm. He’s molted before, as all angels do, but this is something different. Molting is uncomfortable at the most; this is unbearable. But angels’ wings are known to be sensitive, arguably the most sensitive part of an angel’s anatomy, and so it makes sense that this kind of transformation would affect his wings, as well.

He rolls his shoulders back again as he stands, pressing his lips into a thin line and giving one last look at the scene around him before turning and heading back inside.

Today they eradicated four more of Raphael’s followers. Tomorrow Castiel will start with the politicians; those who abused their power and practiced dishonest, destructive, and merciless governing. Corrupt human beings whose favorite methods of gaining support often rely on using God’s name to justify their twisted policies. But humans, nonetheless.

He decides that this is a mission on which Dean will not be accompanying him.

\----

When Dean wakes, he has no idea how long he’s slept. His arching window don’t offer much in the way of telling time. The sky is just as confusing as everything else in Heaven, full of darkness and stars and passing comets. 

He sits up slowly, expecting the usual pain and stiffness from years of abuse to his body, but feels none of that. Instead, he’s rested and loose. Still, even though the best sleep of his life has left him with more energy than he’s had in years, his mind is exhausted and foggy. He’s sure he had nightmares that he can’t remember upon waking.

Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed and finally takes a good look around. The room is big, too big for one man really. There are three doors, one leading back into the hall, and the other two, Dean supposes, lead to a closet and bathroom. Off to the right is an impressive kitchen and dining area. 

Dean shuffles over half-heartedly and opens the fridge, not at all surprised to see it fully stocked. The pantry,  as well. He hovers, staring at the perfect food that he bets never goes out of date, and shuts the door. He isn’t hungry.

He does, however, realize he feels grimy. Dean had been so focused on calling Death, making the deal, restoring Cas’s vessel, not to mention rolling around in an abandoned shipyard, he’d forgotten to take a shower in between all that. 

And since Cas doesn’t seem too keen on paying him a visit, Dean decides a long shower is in order. Running a hand through his hair, Dean peeks into one of the doors and is greeted with the most luxurious bathroom he’s ever seen.

Marble floor, a giant jacuzzi in the middle, shower off to the side encased in glass, and mirrors lining the wall. Dean scoffs as he steps inside, shedding his clothes quickly. It’s ridiculous. This room, this place, this whole situation. What did Cas mean to say with all of this? Was luxury supposed to replace Sam and Bobby? Was it supposed to make him forget that he just sold his soul to his once best friend?

Ignoring all the fancy-schmancy shit around him, Dean opts for the shower. There are several heads, all coming at him in different directions, and he feel strangely exposed with the glass. Which is stupid, seeing as he’s the only one in here. 

As soon as he steps inside, the water turns on. Dean jumps, expecting cold, but it’s perfectly hot when it hits his skin.

“Okay,” he grunts, shutting his eyes. “I could get used to this…”

\----

Cas stands outside of the large office, staring at his reflection in the glass doors. He can see people moving about inside, oblivious to his presence or intentions. He adjusts his tie and prepares to go inside when he hears the raspy voice of a man to his left.

“Change, please. Some change?”

Cas steals another look at the glass doors in front of him before slowly approaching the man, manifesting a handful of coins to drop into his cup. He graciously thanks Cas as his change clinks loudly into his cup, looking up at him with a smile and blank, clouded eyes. Cas squats in front of him, now eye level with the man. 

“What is your name?”

His eyes are wide and cloudy, and he blinks once, lowering his cup. “Marco, sir.”

Castiel nods. “You are a true believer, Marco.”

Marco doesn’t speak, his unseeing eyes moving back and forth in their sockets as Cas reaches forward and places his middle and pointer fingers on his forehead, easily repairing his sight. Marco blinks several times, his mouth gaping as he takes in the scene in front of and around him, the cup falling from his hand and scattering change all around him. Cas stands as Marco falls to his knees in front of him, looking up at him in awe.

“I…” his voice breaks, his bottom lip quivering, “I can see...I can see! Thank you, sir!” He takes Castiel’s hand, covering it with his other, gripping tightly. “Thank you, thank you…”

Cas almost smiles as he looks down at Marco, giving him a nod. “People say I’m wrathful...but I only punish liars and those who forsake me. I am...a just God.”

Marco tilts his head slightly but nods, too, finally dropping Cas’s hand in favor of pushing himself up off the ground. Before he can stand, Cas is already making his way into the senator’s building.

Everyone inside is buzzing around so quickly that Cas goes unnoticed for several minutes. He watches them work, filling out paperwork and talking rapidly, both on the phone and into recording devices. The senator’s campaign brochures and posters are plastered all over the space, and Cas finally sees her in the far corner, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks into the recorder held by a young man with dark curly hair and thick black glasses. Cas takes a step forward before he’s blocked by another young man, who holds up a hand in front of him, pushing lightly against Cas’s chest. Cas frowns and looks down at the hand before meeting the man’s gaze.

“Excuse me.”

The man clears his throat nervously. “I’m sorry, sir, but... what can I help you with?”

Cas fixes him with a hard glare. “I’m here to see the senator.”

“Um...regarding?”

“Abuse of power.” He takes a step forward, forcing the young man backwards.

The man’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, and he tilts his head in question. “Excuse me?”

Cas lets out a frustrated noise, looking over the man’s shoulder in the direction of Senator Walker. He takes another step, sending the man scrambling back another few steps before catching and steeling himself. Cas reaches out and grips the front of his shirt, pulling him close to his face.

“I am not petty. I’m punishing a woman who causes poverty and despair in my name.”

The man’s eyes widen and his hands come up to pull on Cas’s hand gripping his shirt, looking around desperately for some kind of help.

“I put your needs first,” Cas continues, catching the man’s gaze again and tilting his head, “don’t you understand?”

He lets go and the man falls to the floor, crawling to the side, away from Castiel. A few of the others around them have taken notice by now, watching Castiel intently with wide eyes, their mouths open in shock.

“All of you,” Cas turns, looking around the room as more people turn their attention to him, “I am...a better God than my father. How can I make you understand?”

He sees the senator look his direction. At the same time, he sees one of her security team heading his direction, and everything after happens so fast. The guard charges Cas, who catches him by the throat, causing an uproar in the rest of the room. People are yelling angrily and screaming in terror, and before Castiel can rein in his own strength he’s accidentally crushed the guard’s windpipe. As he lets the limp form crumple to the floor below him,  he’s being charged from all directions by men in security uniforms, and a few people have begun to usher the senator out of the room. Cas takes a step in her direction when he feels several hands on him. He sees red, and then nothing at all.

The smell is what wakes him. Pungent, metallic, hanging heavy in the air. Cas opens his eyes and he’s lying on the floor in a pool of blood, the body of a young woman sprawled directly in front of him. 

“No…”

He sits up quickly, his head spinning, and looks around the room. There are bodies everywhere; littering the floor, slumped against the wall, in chairs, draped across tables. The floor is almost one solid sheet of red, and he looks down to find his clothes soaked with blood. 

He presses a hand to his forehead, sliding it back into his hair. The stickiness when he pulls it away lets him know that his face is covered in blood...whether it’s his vessel’s or someone else’s, he can’t be sure. 

“No. No…”

He takes a few steps, surveying the room. Dead...they’re all dead. Every last one of them. There’s no use in checking but he does anyway, hoping he’s wrong. He’s not.

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, clearing his mind. 

_ It’s God’s will. _

Yes. It is a necessary evil. The ones here who were not part of the senator’s corrupt plan were at the very least supportive of it, and that was enough. They deserved this.

At least, that’s what Castiel tells himself.

\----

There’s a light rap at the door, Dumah’s muted voice coming from the other side.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean rolls his eyes as he tugs on a shirt. “The name is Dean,” he grunts as he opens the door. “None of this Mr. Winchester shit.”

He brushes past her, boots clunking against the stone floor. “Where’s Cas?” He looks around as Dumah follows slowly behind him.

“Castiel’s whereabouts aren’t your business,” she answers coolly. “He has work to do.”

“Uh huh,” Dean mutters, casting a glance over his shoulder at her. “That’s why I’m here. To help with his...work.”

Dumah offers a cruel, slow smile. “Interesting, since he left you here. He’s been gone for quite some time. While you were taking your little nap.”

Dean freezes and turns on his heel to face her, face hard and lips curling into a snarl. “Where did he go? Take me there now!”

Dumah scowls at him, setting her shoulders. “I don’t take orders from-”

“Dumah.”

She turns her head to see Cael, standing stiffly a few feet away, looking distressed. 

“Castiel has...returned.”

“Great,” Dean snaps, pushing past both of them. “I need a few words with him.”

Cael nods and both he and Dumah set a quick pace down the hall, both passing Dean just before they reach the large door to the throne room. Cael pushes it open and they all step inside, finding Castiel with his back turned, his wings drooping, arms twitching by his sides, blood dripping from the tips of his fingers and soaking his coat. When he turns, he reveals the rest of his blood-soaked outfit, his face smeared with it, and fixes cold eyes on them.

Dean stops in his tracks, staring in open shock and simmery anger. Cael and Dumah, to their credit, only falter for a second before moving quickly to Castiel’s sides. They begin to methodically remove his bloody clothes while checking his wings and vessel.

“My Lord-” Cael begins.

“What the hell did you do?” Dean hisses through his teeth, striding up Castiel, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched. 

Dumah stares open-mouthed at Dean and Cael freezes completely. They both look like they wish to flee, to get away from the impending storm, but are unable to move. Dean pays them no mind, angry gaze fixed firmly on Cas.

“You’re covered in blood, Cas!” he shouts. “Is it-are you hurt?” Dean gives him a quick glance over. “Damn it, what did you do?!”

Cas throws Dumah a glare before turning his gaze calmly to Dean, and he holds his arms out as Dumah and Cael resume their task, removing his trench coat before Dumah moves to undo his tie and pull it from around his neck.

“A necessity, Dean. I am fixing God’s oversights.”

“Fixing-” Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, then lets it out slowly. “I’m not sure how mass murdering is fixing anything, Cas,” he grits out, eyes flying open. “You’re telling me every single one of them was evil?” He arches a brow, ignoring the looks of warning from Cael. “Look me in the eye, Cas. Look me in the eye and tell me right now that you don’t regret killing them.” Dean stands his ground, eyes boring into Castiel, feet planted firmly apart. 

Dumah stops in the middle of unbuttoning Cas’s shirt and turns to face Dean, her hands clenched by her sides.

“How dare you speak to your master that way?!” she spits angrily, squaring her shoulders. “He has given you everything you could ever want. He does this for all of us. How dare you-”

“Dumah,” Cas says sternly, holding up a hand, “enough.”

She presses her lips into a thin line and lets out an angry breath through her nose, but obediently turns back to Cas and continues to undress him without another word.

Cas turns his gaze back to Dean, tilting his head slightly. 

“I did what needed to be done, Dean. I am putting you first...all of you. Why can’t you see that?”

Dean scoffs, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He begins pacing, fingers tugging at his hair. He’s failed already. He did this to save the poor schmucks in Castiel’s war path. First day on the job and already the bodies are mounting.

He rounds on Castiel. “How many?” he demands. “How many did you take? Tell me, Cas, how many children don’t get to see their mom or dad because you couldn’t control yourself?”

Cas’s face softens and he blinks, looking away briefly, pretending to be taking interest in the angels who have now removed the majority of his clothes. Cael pulled the once white dress shirt off his shoulders, minding his wings, and tossed it to the side with his trench coat and jacket.

“Your attempt at making me feel guilty will not work, I’m afraid,” Cas says softly, finally looking back up at Dean. “I’m confident in the ultimate plan. I’m cleansing the world. There’s bound to be a few...unintentional casualties.”

Dean stares in disbelief at the creature in front of him and doesn’t recognize him. If his Cas is still in there, he’s buried too deep for Dean to reach. Slowly, he shakes his head and takes a step back. “No…” he whispers. “No, Cas. You’re lying and you know it.” 

He turns to leave, to escape the grotesque sight, then pauses briefly. “You know what kills without reason?” Dean asks, glancing back. “Monsters. Not God.”

He strides out, not caring if Cas decides to strike him down and ignoring the incredulous stares from the other angels. 

Dumah watches after Dean, turning to Cas only once he’s left the room. Cas stares blankly ahead at nothing in particular as Cael uses a warm cloth to clean some of the blood from his torso, inspecting him for injuries.

“Sir,” Dumah starts, bowing her head, “forgive me, but why are we allowing this behavior from the human? Just say the word, Master, and I will lock him away. I can-”

“No, Dumah, it’s fine,” Cas says, waving his hand dismissively. “I will take care of it. Dean will fall in line.” He reaches out and tilts her chin up, meeting her gaze as she blinks up at him through thick lashes. “I promise you.”

He drops his hand, waving Cael away and rolling his shoulders back, tucking his aching wings behind his back.

“I have a task for the others. Gather them in one hour, please.”

Dumah and Cael both nod and bow, then leave the room without another word.

\----

Dean paces in his room, his cage, like an animal. He spoke out of line, completely, and can’t bring himself to care. He had known it was bad, but thought if he was with Cas then he might be able to save a life or two.

For some stupid reason, he didn’t anticipate Cas leaving his ass here while he went off to do his “cleansing”. And now lives were paying for it. He didn’t know who, or why, or how many, and it didn’t matter. From the amount of blood he saw, it had been plenty. And Dean is certain they couldn’t have all been bad.

So he paces, breaking whatever he can get his hands on, then growling in anger when whatever he’s broken magically fixes itself. Eventually he gives up and collapses onto the bed, staring up at the not-ceiling blankly.

Some time later, Cas hesitates briefly outside of Dean’s door before finally pushing it open, stopping just inside. He looks over at Dean for a long moment, then pushes the door shut and crosses the room, his hands in his pockets. He’s cleansed of all the blood now, his clothes repaired, not a hair out of place. They’re both quiet for several moments, Dean watching him intently from the bed.

Cas sighs deeply, turning to face him.

“You must learn to control your anger, Dean. The angels cannot understand such disobedience.”

Dean is quiet for a moment. “I don’t give a shit what the angels think,” he says listlessly, going back to staring up at the sky. “Don’t like it? Kill me. Seems to be your answer to everything.”

It’s quiet again for a moment, then two, then Dean sighs and closes his eyes. “I sold my soul, Cas. Does that mean anything to you? I gave you...everything, because I  _ had faith _ in what you were doing. If...if this is what you want, if you want me stand to by and let you smite everyone until there’s no one left, then you can count me out. Cast me into hell if you want, but I just...can’t.”

"Faith," Cas scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't patronize me, Dean. You did this to save Sam, and I knew that. I could respect that. So you can play the martyr for these people all you want, but what you've done is none other than a misplaced act of selfishness, and I think deep down, you know that. Your work requires you to make some tough decisions, yes? Some decisions that cause you to question your morality? So many years in which all you could see was black and white. I cannot operate under the pretense of a ‘gray area’. I am, for all intents and purposes, God now. There is right and there is wrong. There is no in between.”

“You think I’d gamble all of this just for Sam?” Dean shoots up, eyes blazing. “You think I’m that selfish? You know what, Cas, I’ve done some shit. I know that. I’ve made bad deals for the sake of family and I’ve seen the consequences. You really think I would risk the world for Sam’s mental health?”

Cas’s gaze hardens. “Yes. I do.”

“Bullshit.” Dean snarls and slides off the bed, pacing once again. “Yeah, I wanted you to help him, because you fucking owed it to him. But I also…” Dean pauses and looks down at the floor. “I really thought you could do this. Out of all the angels you were the only one who actually cared about humans. But now…” Dean shrugs weakly. “You’re just another Lucifer and you can’t even see it. I wanted to help you like you helped us.”

“You-” Cas scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath, “I am nothing like Lucifer. I am  _ just _ . I am  _ fair _ . I’m doing all I can to save this planet that my father has let crumble and you resist me, every step of the way. You fail to see the bigger picture.” He runs a hand through his hair, having a hard time reining in his anger. He looks away, scraping his teeth along his upper lip, focusing his attention on one of the wide windows. 

“It’s unfortunate that you see me that way,” he says slowly, turning back to Dean, “but I cannot abide you speaking to me with such disrespect. Regardless of whether or not you agree with the decisions I make.”

Dean runs a frustrated hand over his face. Cas isn’t hearing him at all. His words mean nothing. Cas is right. The guilt won’t work. Of course it won’t. New Cas doesn’t care.

So, last ditch effort. Dean takes a deep breath, mustering up the last bit of strength he has left, ignoring the sting in his eyes as he once again mourns for his friend. He turns to Cas slowly, taking a step forward. 

“You...once asked us, asked me, to love you,” Dean says softly, searching Castiel’s face desperately. “Remember? After you... _ saved. _ ..us from Raphael, you asked us to bow and profess our love. And...I want to, Cas.” Dean closes his eyes, surprised by how true that was. “I want to love my new God.”

In front of Cas, Dean sinks to his knees. He bows his head, submissive, obedient, and tentatively reaches out, fingers brushing Cas’ leg. “Let me, Cas. Let me help you. We...we can  _ make examples _ of the evil ones—the corrupt priests, the douchebag politicians—and  _ teach  _ the others. They’re victims, Cas. Think of how much they’d love you if you saved them.”

Cas cocks a brow, looking down at the top of Dean’s head with vague interest. He squats down to Dean’s level, laying a hand on Dean’s cheek to guide his gaze to his own, his hand sliding to the back of Dean’s neck as their eyes meet. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he narrows his eyes and tilts his head, then nods slightly.

“I want my followers to love me,” he says softly, his thumb barely brushing the nape of Dean’s neck. “All of this...I’m doing it for them. I’m doing it for you. It was always...for all of you.” He squeezes the back of Dean’s neck tightly, the muscles of his jaw tightening, his eyes piercing. “I will consult with you from now on. But know that there may be times in which I forego your opinion in favor of what I believe to be necessary.”

Dean’s throat is dry and he struggles to swallow, to breathe. Castiel is so close, the hand on his neck searing his skin. It feels too warm and Dean wants to lean into it, briefly wondering what it would feel like on other parts of his body.

_ Get it together, Winchester. _

“...Yes, yes, Cas,” Dean finally whispers roughly. If this is the best he can get, Dean will take it. Baby steps. Maybe if he plays this right, is the good little human Cas wants, he can wiggle his way further into Cas’s decision making. “Whatever you want…” he pauses, licking his lips. “Master.”

Cas loosens his hold on Dean’s neck and gives him a soft nod, then stands, gesturing for Dean to stand as well.

“You are a good soldier, Dean. I am lucky to have you on my side.”

Dean stands, allowing a brief feeling of relief and victory to wash over him. “Whatever I can do to serve you,” he says softly, eyes cast down.

He pauses, hesitating. “Cas...you…” Dean sighs and looks up. “You should punish me. I was disrespectful to you in front of your angels...if you don’t punish me, they’ll think you’re weak. We can’t have them thinking you’re weak.”

Cas takes a deep breath and looks back to the window, his brow wrinkled in thought. He scrubs a hand down his face and stuffs his hands in his pockets again, sighing deeply as he looks back to Dean and nods.

“Yes, I suppose you’re correct. But I…” he pauses, closing his mouth with a huff, “What would you have me do? You are...the only person here who has ever cared for me outside of obligation and I...I don’t  _ want _ to hurt you.”

Dean manages, just barely, to stop his jaw from dropping. He dares to hope, searching Castiel’s eyes, the blue not as cold as before. He wants to jump on it, drag  _ his _ Cas out, kicking and screaming, but restrains himself, just barely. Baby steps.

“You don’t have to, then,” Dean says carefully. “You can…” he stops, fighting against the fear that sits heavy in his stomach. “Lock me away. For a little while. Just so they can see that you punish those who disobey.”

“Yes…” Cas agrees, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a hand to tap a finger thoughtfully against his chin. He clears his throat. “Yes, good suggestion. I will have Dumah come escort you to a cell.”

Dean nods, unable to say anything. He must be insane, suggesting his own punishment. But he has to prove his loyalty somehow. And if Cas let him get away with such disrespect, the other angels would notice quickly. They would rebel, thinking Cas was weak.

_ And my God isn’t weak,  _ Dean thinks. It’s the best way to prove his loyalty, to put Cas’ needs before his own. Even if it means hours, or days, in some dank cell.

Cas lets his arms fall back to his sides, opening his mouth to speak but closing it again, not really knowing what response is appropriate for a situation such as this. He swallows hard and nods, turning and making his way back to the door.

He pauses with a hand on the handle, turning back to look at Dean once more, his expression softer than before.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely. “Truly, I am pleased that you are here...with me.”

Dean’s eyes widen just slightly and he sighs, feeling something...pleasant in his chest. “Good, Cas,” he murmurs, shuffling closer to Cas. “I’m...I’m glad I’m here, too.”

He watches Castiel go, the dread of being locked up forming a knot in his gut. He clenches his fists, staying silent, steeling himself. He’ll be fine. Cas probably won’t even leave him in there for that long. A day or two, maybe. Hopefully. 

\----

The cell is small. Frigid and dark. There’s nothing in it except a stone bench. No light to speak of. Dean can barely pace, the space only two or three steps wide. He rubs at his arms, trying to get warm.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Dean ignores the voice, staring at the stone wall.

“I guess you’re not his favorite pet anymore, hmm?”

He closes his eyes, starts counting silently.

“Did you really think you’d get away with your little outburst? You’re lucky he didn’t smite you where you stand. It proves Castiel is just, even if his pathetic little human doesn’t deserve his mercy.”

Dean snorts to himself, focusing on the uneven grooves in the wall.

“What, nothing to say?” Dumah continues, smirking at Dean’s tense back. “You’ve only been in here for a day. Already broken, little pet?”

“You must be really hard up for him,” Dean finally mutters, not taking his eyes off the wall. “It’s pathetic, really, how jealous you are of a ‘pathetic little human’.”

He hears her sharp intake of breath and smirks. 

“Oh, did I hit a sore spot? Poor little Dumah…” Dean chuckles. “Just wants Cas to notice her, maybe even bend her over that throne-”

“You shut your filthy mouth!” she screeches. “How dare you you speak of him that way! Castiel has no...no need for such a disgusting act.”

“Yeah, maybe not with you,” Dean finally rounds on her, smirk widening. “You want that big, strong angel to take you and you hate that he doesn’t even spare you a glance. Meanwhile, he gives his  _ little pet _ a pretty room and all his attention.”

“You’ll rot in here!” she spits at him, turning on her heel and storming away. “I’ll make sure of it!”

The sound of her steps fades away and Dean is blissfully left alone. He sighs and hugs his arms around himself, shivering from the ever-increasing cold. He paces, somewhat, and tries to think of someplace warm.

“You do enjoy antagonizing her, don’t you?” Cas’s voice is low and gravelly as he steps into view, smirking slightly.

“She started it,” Dean mutters darkly, stopping and turning to face Cas. He’s relieved to see him here. He had worried that once locked in here, Cas would forget about him. “Maybe if she shut that hole in her face, we would get along.”

“You both seem to struggle with that,” Cas grins, trailing a finger along the bars of the cell. “I find that I tend to become especially attached to this particular temperament.” He quirks his head to the side and shrugs. “Glutton for punishment, I suppose.”

“Well, I can understand being attached to me.” Dean flashes Cas a winning smile. “ _ I’m  _ awesome.” He shrugs, glancing pointedly in the direction Dumah had disappeared. 

“She’s devout,” Cas says, shrugging as well, “dedicated to the cause. The others...they follow me because they’ve realized there’s no other  _ real _ option. But Dumah, she...she’s here because she genuinely wants to be. So we endure.” He glances back up at Dean, smile pulling at the corners of his lips again.

Dean grunts and starts pacing again, rubbing at his arms and chest. “Yeah, well, tell her to keep her mouth shut.” 

Cas drops his hand from the bars and takes a deep breath, sighing heavily as he takes a few steps down the hall, still in view of Dean. “In any case, she tells me you have refused to eat. Is what we have offered not suitable for you?”  
Dean pauses and stuffs his hands in his pockets, not that it does much good to keep him warm. “I’m not hungry,” he mutters with a shrug. Half true. His body needs it, but Dean has no appetite. “And anyway, I don’t trust her with my food. You want me to eat, have Cael bring it.” The angel is quiet and at least civil enough to Dean. Too afraid to harm him in any case. 

Cas nods. “Noted. I’ll send Cael or one of the others from here on out.” He begins to leave, and gets almost to the end of the hall before he turns back. “And Dean?” He pauses as Dean looks over at him, raising a brow. “Do not ever make presumptions of any earthly desires I may or may not have. Especially to my followers.”

Cas gives one last look around, clenching and unclenching a fist at his side,  before striding off down the hall, the echoes of his shoes scuffing against the floor bouncing off the corridor wall.

Dean watches him go, biting his lip as he allows himself to consider that Cas may have heard that  _ entire  _ conversation, throne comment and all. 

_ Oops. _

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he plops down on the universe’s most uncomfortable bench. He sighs and huddles in on himself, trying to trap in whatever warmth he can.

\----

“I’m guessing you thought you’d be out of here by now,” Dumah’s voice rings out. Dean twitches, his back braced against the bars, his ass on the cold floor, eyes staring straight ahead at the wall. He grits his teeth and says nothing. She’s right. He did expect he’d be out of here by now. It’s been three days, approaching four. He hasn’t seen Cas since that first day. As promised, Cael brought him his food, but other than that Cas didn’t seem to be giving Dean much thought.

“Face it, Dean,” Dumah sighs. “He isn’t letting you go anytime soon. It will be weeks before he decides you’ve been punished enough. If he doesn’t forget about you first.”

Dean closes his eyes, wanting to argue, but having no energy to do so. He isn’t sleeping well, and the cold is getting worse. Shivers wrack his body constantly. His nose is red and running, his joints aching, his stomach roiling. His throat burns with a developing cough and his chest aches. 

“Just shut up,” he mutters tiredly, clenching his frozen fingers. “Not everyone likes to hear you talk.”

She chuckles, but thankfully goes silent. Eventually she walks away, leaving Dean alone with the cold and untouched food Cael had left hours before.

\----

Cas shifts uncomfortably , white knuckles tightly clenching the arms of his stone throne as he pushes himself back, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his back. He’s taken some time off for the past couple of days—save for a few of Raphael’s followers who surfaced in a small town in Virginia the day before—because his wings are getting worse. The night before, Castiel got proof when he began noticing some of his feathers falling out. The feathers are dry, practically crumbling in his hands when he touches them, and therein lies the problem: his wings aren’t secreting oil as they should be. Castiel doesn’t know why this is, but he assumes it has something to do with his new power.

He sags down into the seat and rests an elbow on the arm of the throne, his head in his hand, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead.

The large stone door of the throne room opens and Cael enters, making his way quickly across the length of the floor and stopping at the bottom of the steps, bowing his head.

“My Lord, the Winchester...I’m sorry to inform you, but he has become quite ill.”

Cas looks down at him, dropping his hand and stiffening slightly in his seat. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“What could possibly have come on so suddenly that I was not informed of it this morning?”

Cael keeps his head down, saying nothing.

“Well?”

Cael clears his throat nervously and finally lifts his eyes to meet Cas’s, looking guilty. 

“Actually, it’s...it’s been days, sir. My apologies, I-”

Cas leans forward in his seat, inwardly wincing at the pain in his shoulders but pushing past it. “Has Dumah not been with him?”

“She has, sir.”

Cas mutters unintelligibly, pushing himself up out of his seat and down the steps, shouldering past Cael who quickly turned to follow him out of the room and down the corridor. They don’t stop until they reach the cells, but there is no sign of Dumah. Cas turns hastily back to Cael.

“Find her. Bring her to me,” he spits, and watches for a moment as Cael scrambles away.

Cas turns back and makes his way down the corridor to Dean’s cell, finding him huddled a corner, his severe shivering noticeable even in the dark.

“Dean?”

Dean looks up, briefly, then ducks his head and buries it in his arms. He’s having hallucinations now. Great. Cas couldn’t be here. Dumah had been right. Cas has forgotten about him, doesn’t care that Dean is sick, that if he stays in here much longer he’s going to die. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe this whole time when Dean thought he was winning Cas over, Cas was just plotting this punishment.

Dean coughs, doubling over as it tears through his throat. Jesus, he probably has pneumonia. Has he ever had it? He can’t remember. Sammy had it once. Took weeks to get over. Dean remembers being by his side the whole time, his dad actually looking worried. 

“Sir…”

He hears Cael’s voice and blinks up, now not only seeing Cas but Dumah and Cael as well. Cael looks uncomfortable and Dumah looks like a fly caught in the spider’s web. 

Cas stares intently at Dean, watching him for several long moments even after Cael has returned with Dumah. Finally he tears his eyes away, fixing his glare on Dumah and taking a few quick steps toward her, pushing her up against the wall by her throat with a growl.

“You were supposed to be watching him and reporting anything to me,” Cas grinds out through clenched teeth.

Dumah gasps, sputtering against the pressure of his hand on her throat but desperately attempting to keep her hands at her sides. “I...I-”

“You  _ intentionally _ kept his condition from me,” Cas presses harder, feeling one of her veins pop under his fingers. “You _ knew _ , and you said  _ nothing _ .”

He doesn’t really even want her to answer; doesn’t want to hear whatever pathetic excuse she’ll give him. She chokes and sputters, trying to form words, but Cas scoffs and looks over to Cael, inclining his head in Dumah’s direction as he speaks.

“I’m taking Dean with me back to his room and healing him. She is to spend the foreseeable future in his cell.”

Cas drops her and lets her slide to the floor, coughing and rubbing at her neck. Cael nods and moves forward, helping her to her feet and placing a guiding hand on her shoulder, moving to the side as he lets Cas open the cell and step inside.

Cas kneels in front of Dean, taking his face in his hands and inspecting him, his forehead knit into a frown, nostrils still flaring with anger over Dumah’s insolence.

“Dean?” he repeats, trying to get him to focus on him through the haze of his fever.

Dean tries to focus, he does, but his mind is too fuzzy. He feels too hot, but can’t stop shivering. He’s sweating through his cold then shudders as it cools immediately on his skin. He grabs Cas’s arm, squeezing, feeling the solid warmth.

“You’re here,” Dean rasps out, blinking blearily at him. “You...left me here. I thought-” He starts coughing again and never finishes his sentence, his throat too raw. His vision swims and he leans forward suddenly, feeling dizzy. 

Cas grits his teeth as he catches Dean and pulls him into his arms, his jaw clenched when he stands with his limp form, carrying him bridal style out of the cell. He nods toward Cael, who looks briefly into the cell which has the remnants of old meals and puddles of bile where Dean hadn’t eaten in days.

“Sir, should I...perhaps, put her in a different cell, or clean-”

“No,” Cas says firmly, adjusting his hold slightly on Dean, who is now practically passed out in his arms. He stops, looking back at the two of them, both of which have bewildered looks on their faces. “She made her bed. Let her lie in it.”

Cas carries Dean effortlessly to his room, kicking the door closed behind them and laying him gently on the bed, sitting down next to him and placing a hand on the side of his face, tapping his cheek lightly.

“Dean.” His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat. “Dean?”

Dean fights his way through the haze. He notes weakly that he’s laying down on something very soft. Wherever they are is warm, and Cas is… very close. Those arching wings cast shadows over Dean, forming a half cocoon over him. 

“Cas,” he grunts out, breathing heavily. “I think...I think I’m sick, buddy.”

“Your deductions are as quick as ever,” Cas jokes dryly, letting his hand rest on Dean’s cheek as Dean struggles to focus on him. He frowns, eyes searching Dean’s gaunt face, and as he runs his thumb across Dean’s chapped bottom lip, a brief flash of... _ something  _ pings in his chest. He shakes his head to bring himself back to the task at hand. 

“I’m going to heal you now,” Cas tells him gently, laying a hand across his forehead. Pushing his grace into Dean’s pores and through his veins, Cas cuts off the flow only when the grace has cycled through Dean’s body completely and back to his hand. He leaves his hand on Dean’s forehead, watching intently as the color returns to his face.

The healing only lasts a few minutes, maybe even less, but it leaves Dean breathless and warm. He feels...very good. Strong, with a pleasant buzz just under his skin. He basks in it, shifting closer to Cas, the source of that pleasure, then finally opens his eyes. They’re clear, focused, and find Cas’s quickly.

“That’s…” he clears his throat and swallows, “that’s a lot better. Thank you, Cas. I had thought...maybe…” he shakes his head and sighs. “Doesn’t matter now. Just...thank you.”

 Cas nods and pulls his hand away, leaning back and licking his lips, trying to relax his wings which are folded rigidly at his sides.

“You’re welcome,” he says smoothly, breaking their eye contact in favor of looking toward the window.

Dean sits up slowly, still expecting some dizziness, but he’s perfectly fine. Not a trace of sickness left. He blinks at Cas, letting his eyes roam over him, and frowns.

Cas is sitting...all wrong. Stiff, uncomfortable, jaw clenching in pain. His wings are...droopy, dull, pooling on the floor. The feathers look brittle and one falls off right before Dean’s eyes.

“Cas…” he says slowly. “You’re — what’s wrong with you. Your wings?”

Cas cuts his eyes to Dean and back to the window, stubbornly hiding his wince as he stands and walks to the window. The sky outside is bright blue today, with fluffy clouds. He looks up at them with vague interest, biting his bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “It has...never happened to me before.”

Dean stands and trails behind Cas, stopping just a few steps away. He has a full view of the wings, all six droopy, stiff, and shedding.

“It must be the power…?” he mutters stupidly, because how the hell would he know? He steps closer and very carefully runs a finger over a feather. It’s dry and scratchy. “They hurt?”

The wing Dean touches twitches violently under his finger and Cas sucks in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “They are...becoming increasingly uncomfortable.”

Dean snaps his hand away, wincing apologetically. “I think that’s an understatement, Cas…” he snorts, taking a closer look. 

“I don’t know much about wings,” he shrugs. “But I’m fairly sure you’re supposed to have...oil, or something, right? Where’s yours?” He shakes his head and crosses his arms. “Take off your clothes. I can’t see anything with your coat and shirt on.”

“They are  _ fine _ , Dean,” Cas lies through clenched teeth, “I do not need _ help _ with them. I will repair them when my work is done.” He looks back out the window, pretending to be distracted by the beauty outside.

Dean chews his bottom lip. Cas’s stubborness is still as bad as always. He takes a breath and steps around the wings, gazing at Cas’s profile. The clenched jaw, the set mouth, the hard eyes. Dean knows he’s in more pain than he’s letting on.

“...Cas,” Dean says gently. “Let me at least look. I might be able to help.” He shrugs. “It’s not like you can trust the angels. What good am I if I can’t at least do this?”

Cas turns to him, eyeing him warily for a moment. He huffs and makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat, thrusting the trench and suit coat off his shoulders as he walks past Dean to the bed to hide the pain etched on his face. He makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt and pulls that off, as well. Laying the garments on the bed,  he rolls his shoulders back, attempting to flex the joints of his wings.

Dean allows himself a second of enjoying the view. Even dull and dry, the wings are magnificent, and Cas’s body is just...yeah. Real nice. Very nice.

He jerks himself from his thoughts and steps close. “Lay down for me?” Dean asks softly and smiles slightly when Cas complies without a word. He lays out on his stomach, wings sagging on either side of him. Dean carefully crawls on top, legs straddling Castiel’s thighs, and leans down to look.

The skin around the base is red, irritated. Feathers are haggard, sticking every which way, flaking off steadily. Dean clicks his tongue and very gently lifts a few away from the base joint, easily finding the oil gland. Dried up, swollen, red, and probably painful. 

Dean hums. Curious, he prods it gently. Cas jerks, the noise rising up from his chest as a mix of a grunt and a moan. He presses his face into the sheets, his hands digging desperately into the mattress below him.

“Whoa, easy…” Dean soothes, massaging around the swollen gland while he thinks. The thing looks full, ready to burst, but unable to release for some reason. Maybe some leftover damage from the vessel failing? Dean doesn’t know and he supposes it doesn’t matter. He’s willing to bet, though, that if he could get the oil to release, the pain at the base would go away.

“...This might hurt,” Dean says softly. He sighs and starts on the upper left wing. Pushing dry feathers away, Dean— as gently as he can— starts massaging the gland. His fingers are firm, working the small slit on top, dutifully ignoring all sexual connotations this could have. 

Cas's moans are muffled by the mattress as he practically growls in agony. At one point he inadvertently reaches back and grips Dean's thigh, his fingernails digging in as he groans loudly into the mattress. 

“I know, I know,” Dean whispers, wincing as his thigh is thoroughly bruised. “I’m sorry, Cas...I’m sorry.” He bites his lip and almost decides to pull his hand away, because surely he is only making this worse. But as he does, he feels something wet and slippery between his fingers.

Dean blinks down, holding out his hand, and smiles. “Cas,” he stretches his hand out, waving it in front of Cas’s face. “Look.” He wiggles his fingers, showing off the shiny oil. “I think it’s working.”

Cas lets out a deep breath and almost laughs, dropping his head back to the mattress as he relaxes marginally, his chest still heaving.

“Good,” he says gruffly, panting a few more breaths, “that's good. Better.”

Dean grins, feeling immensely proud of himself. Maybe a less cranky Cas will mean less mass murdering. 

He turns his attention back to the oil gland, massaging it once again, although it hardly needs it. Now that it’s opened up, the gland is leaking oil profusely. It’s a flood, glistening against Cas’s skin. It’s even looking less swollen already. Dean sits a bit smugly, working his fingers over the slit. His hands are slippery, covered in angel oil. The smell is actually pleasant. Nothing he’s ever smelled before, but nice. Cas could probably put it in a bottle and make a fortune.

Dean continues to coax the oil from the gland, which will eventually need to be spread over the entire expanse of all six wings. Cas shivers noticeably as he runs his oil-slick fingers through the feathers.

“Enough, Dean,” Cas rumbles, reaching back again to pat him gently on the thigh, “it's enough.”

“Oh...sorry,” Dean mutters, blushing slightly as he pulls his slick hand away. He’d gotten carried away, but something about this small bit of the grooming process is relaxing. Not to mention, the moans he’s gotten out of Cas definitely have Dean’s pants a little tighter.

Cas’s wings give a lively twitch by his sides as he sighs and gives one final groan, pressing his palms to the mattress and pushing himself up to his knees. He maneuvers himself to the side of the bed and stands, raising his arms above his head, stretching the muscles in his back and unfurling his wings to their full span. He redresses quickly, buttoning his shirt halfway and throwing his jacket and trench coat over his arm, finally turning back to Dean once more. 

“I, um…” he clears his throat awkwardly, inclining his head slightly in Dean's direction. “Thank you.”

Dean swallows noticeably and nods, not trusting his voice. He tries to tear his eyes away, but they won’t budge. They bounce from the enormous wings, still looking dull and stiff, but moving a bit better now...to the large tent in Cas’s pants. The one Cas doesn’t appear to notice.

“Y-you’re welcome,” Dean finally finds his voice, though it’s rough. “I was happy to do it.” He looks away and shifts uncomfortably, the throbbing between his legs becoming unbearable. 

Cas licks his lips and nods, his eyes meeting Dean's once more before he gives a final look around the room and leaves, closing the heavy stone door behind him with a thud. 

Fucking  _ finally _ .

Dean makes quick work of his jeans, pushing them down just enough to get his cock out. He doesn’t think about what he’s doing, what Cas has and probably will do again, or the fact that even with all of that, Dean still cares about the angel.

He forgets all of that as he wraps his oiled-up hand around himself and falls back onto the bed. Dean grunts and thrusts into his fist, squeezing the head. The oil makes everything slick, the sound of his strokes obscene and wet. He closes his eyes and imagines those big wings, spread high and wide above him, healthy and strong. He sees lustful blue eyes, feels grace pulsing through him. Not for healing, but for the sheer pleasure of having a part of Cas inside him.

Dean comes embarrassingly quickly, making a mess of his shirt and jeans. He moans, biting the sheets to stifle it, and his hips jerk until his orgasm subsides. In the afterglow, he pants and stares blankly at the wall, his mess cooling on his clothes. 

Then, very quietly. “Holy shit.”


	4. Chapter 4

Cas leans forward on his throne, scrubbing his hands furiously down his face, trying to eradicate the images and sensations from his mind:  Dean’s hands in his wings, massaging him, fingers running through his feathers...his hands soaked in oil, spreading it over his appendages, softly trailing along the joints. 

Cas shivers and groans, sitting back, his face flushed. He’s frustrated—and pissed off, if he’s being honest—that he’s letting something so small effect him this way. It’s a trivial desire, one of the few that angels actually have, and he hates that it still affects him, even with his new status. 

It’s been almost a week since Cas pulled Dean out of that godforsaken cell and locked Dumah there in his place. Almost a week since Dean helped him with the clogged oil duct. And the same exact amount of time that Cas has obsessed over Dean’s nimble fingers threading through his feathers. Since then, though, his wings have been doing much better, although they could really use regular grooming...but Cas is much too proud, and much too wary, to ask for Dean’s help.

His most recent mission had left Dean royally pissed at him again, though it wasn’t nearly as horrible as the senator’s office. But, as Dean said, there were innocent people who paid the price for a few corrupt politicians. He has to do better. 

The large door opens and Cas straightens, sitting a little taller on the massive throne. Cael and Afriel enter behind Dean, having escorted him from his room at Cas’s request.

Cas stands, holding his tie against his chest as he nods slightly, acknowledging them.

“Cael, Afriel, thank you,” he says blandly, and watches them nod in return and leave before turning his gaze to Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean tries to ignore the tiny flare of nostalgia and fails spectacularly. He can’t remember the last time he heard ‘Hello, Dean’. He misses it.

“Hey, Cas…” Dean says, blinking up at him, eyes immediately drawn to Cas’s wings. He still worries over them, has offered to groom them for Cas, but the angel refuses. After the most recent rejection, Dean hasn’t broached the subject again, but he still finds himself monitoring the shape of Cas’s wings. 

“So, who are we killing today?” he asks a little bitterly, running a hand through his hair. The last “mission” had gone...well, better than the senator fiasco, but still not what Dean was wanting. Baby steps. He keeps telling himself that.

Cas quirks a smile and licks his lips quickly, making his way down the steps instead of answering. He shrugs on his trench coat, mindful of his wings, and turns to Dean, raising a brow.

“You’ll see,” he says finally, holding a hand up to his shoulder, almost in question. “Are you ready?”

Dean sighs and nods. Seconds later, he opens his eyes, fighting against the dizziness that always accompanies flying. He blinks and looks around, taking in the sight.

He stiffens, feeling panic rise up. Children’s Hospital. 

He turns on Cas, trying to keep his voice level. “Cas…” he says slowly. “Why are we here? This...these are _ children _ , Cas…”

Cas takes a look around and huffs, his gaze falling on Dean.

“ _ Dean _ ,” he says sternly, scratching the top of his head absently, “Do you not trust me?” He quirks a brow, running a hand over his mouth.

Dean’s lips form a thin line and he tries to quell the rapid beating of his heart. This new Cas is a lot of things, but a child killer...no. No way. Dean can’t believe it. There has to be some other purpose. Maybe a corrupt doctor or something. Dean’s all for that, if the jackass is hurting kids.

“Okay, yes,” Dean nods with a sigh. “I trust you, Cas. Lead the way.”

Cas nods, too, turning and heading inside, Dean close on his heels. They walk through the twists and turns of the hospital, finally coming to stop in front of a dark room at the end of a hallway. Cas stands stoic in the doorway, his arms comfortably by his sides as he looks inside the room. There’s a young girl lying in the bed, looking small and feeble, various tubes connecting her to a variety of machines around her that are beeping and flashing every few moments. Her breathing is slow and labored as she sleeps, her hand twitching by her side. 

“Cancer,” Cas says softly, not breaking his gaze from the small child. “Such a horrible disease, yes? And even more so for children...whose lives have only just begun. To have that ripped away from them, and…” his fists clench so hard a tendon actually pops. He turns to Dean, his features hard. 

“Your government has the answer to this horrible disease, and yet they keep it hidden. Can you fathom something so evil, Dean? There are men and women who can fix this, who can keep people like her—” he gestures to the young girl, pausing only for a brief moment, “from suffering. They can change things, eradicate a detrimental disease, and yet they do _ nothing _ .”

Dean watches her from the doorway; the beeping machines are probably the only things keeping her alive. She looks so fragile. She should be at school, making friends, playing on a slide. Instead she’s here, dying before her life could even begin. 

A cure for cancer. It, frankly, doesn’t really surprise him that the government has one. The thought sends anger flaring hotly in his chest. Dean clenches his own fist, wanting to put it through the wall. 

“Right, so,” Dean grits out, turning to face Cas, his eyes alight with fury. “Who are we after? How far up does it go? Fuck, doesn’t matter. We’ll get ‘em all.” 

Cas smiles softly, placing a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

“That is not why we’re here,” he says calmly, meeting his eyes. “In time, I assure you. But today...today is about something else.”

He drops his hand and takes a few steps into the room, pausing only for a moment before crossing to the bed and holding his hand over her forehead. He lets it hover for a moment and looks over at Dean, who is watching the girl intently, practically holding his breath.

“Dean,” Cas whispers gently, inclining his head, silently asking Dean to come to him.

Dean swallows and nods, but hesitates. Not because he doesn’t trust Cas, but the girl...she just looks so weak. He feels like shit just taking her air. He’s the kind of a guy that could accidently break her just by standing next to her. 

He takes a deep breath and moves to stand beside Cas, looking down at the sleeping girl. She’s pale, with a gaunt face, expression tired even her sleep. Someone so young shouldn’t look like this.

Dean meets Cas’s eyes again. Cas looks calm, while Dean’s eyes are almost afraid, and a little watery from the sight in front of them. Cas reaches down and wordlessly takes Dean’s right hand with his left, giving him a second to relax before he moves both their hands to the girl’s head and gently rests them there. He closes his eyes, and Dean’s eyes widen and he gasps, feeling that pulse of grace through his hand as it feeds into the little girl. He even catches a glimpse of the tumors disappearing and he struggles to breathe, feeling overwhelmed and so happy he could cry.

Finally, when it’s done, Cas pulls both their hands away. Dean stares at his hand, then at the girl, licking his dry lips. “You…” He looks up at Cas and has the urge to kiss him. Really, truly, kiss him. The urge is so strong he even starts to lean in, but stops just in time before he embarrasses himself. 

“Cas…” Dean whispers. “Cas, that was…” He smiles widely. “Amazing.”

Cas says nothing but instead takes one last look at the girl, breathing evenly, peacefully now, and moves past Dean on his way to the door. He waits until Dean meets him outside the room before he speaks again, his voice hushed.

“I try to come here every couple of days,” he says, looking around the hall, though no one seems to be paying them any mind. “It would be more often, but...there’s so much to be done, and I…” he licks his lips, looking guilty. “Healing doesn’t have the same impact as smiting. It sounds cruel, to say it out loud. But it’s the truth. I’m trying to enact real change, and...anyway. I just wanted you to see...not everything I do is what you would view as bad. I have many plans, and punishment is only part of them.”

Dean looks down, toying with the frayed edges of his shirt, and feeling like utter crap. Not everything Cas does is right, Dean knows this, but he hadn’t thought about the good Cas might be doing, as well. Cas comes here every few days to heal sick children, while their own government is content to let them suffer and die. And not too long ago, Dean had compared him to Lucifer…

Dean takes a breath and looks up. “I’m...sorry, Cas,” he whispers. “I think…” Dean looks around, shoulders sagging. “I think I understand...a little better now. I’m sorry for those things I said. I was wrong.”

“You were,” Cas says stubbornly, jaw set. “I’m...doing good things, Dean. Even if the way I do them isn’t necessarily something you understand.” He scrubs a hand over his face and gives the girl one last lingering look, then steps forward and touches Dean’s shoulder, and they’re back in Heaven.

They’re just outside Dean’s room, and Cas stands there another moment with his hand on Dean’s shoulder, letting him adjust to the change. He nods, drops his hand, and walks away without another word.

\----

Dean discovers fairly quickly that Heaven is kind of boring. Apparently no one here has ever heard of a TV. Or books, or a bar, or _ anything _ . It’s slowly driving him insane. Oh, and he misses driving. A lot. Sometimes he dreams of Baby, sitting behind her wheel, her engine roaring as they fly down the road.

Between these little missions Cas drags him on, Dean is left alone for hours. Sometimes days. Cas is avoiding him and Dean is itching to know why. Ever since the  _ wing thing, _ Cas has been keeping his distance. Dean briefly panicked, thinking Cas somehow knew his favorite human had masturbated with his oil. But Dean is pretty sure if Cas knew, there would have been some kind of punishment for his “sin”.

So Dean spends his days pacing his room. The kitchen is awesome, so that’s something. His appetite is returning slowly, the stress of his situation subsiding to resignation. He’s never had so much food at his disposal. Breakfast, when Cas isn’t dragging him away, always consists of pancakes or waffles, eggs and bacon, biscuits, anything Dean wants. 

Eating out of boredom does horrible things to his physique, though. So it’s back to the pacing. Dean has tried to venture out a few times, but he gets horribly lost within minutes. It always ends with him sheepishly praying to Cas, who shows up looking ruffled and very displeased. He leads Dean back to his room like a disappointed parent, wings stiff and Dean’s head hanging low.

Dean has even tried cleaning. Heaven is spotless. There is absolutely nothing to clean. 

On this particular day, after being left to his own devices for only an hour, Dean finally snaps. He huffs, folds his arms over his chest, and stands tall, trying to look as intimidating as possible.

“Cas,” he snarls, tapping a finger on his bicep. “Come on, man, I’m dying here. Can you spare a minute?”

Cas’s voice comes from behind him, deep and gravely and sounding utterly irritated, as if Dean had pulled him from something particularly important. Perhaps he had.

“Your prayer etiquette could use some work.”

Dean turns to find Cas staring out his window again, forehead wrinkled as he squints against the light pouring in. Cas turns to him, his lips slightly parted, tongue darting out to wet them. He raises a brow.

Dean shrugs, eyes dancing around Cas’s form not so subtly. The wings look...well, the same, honestly. He wishes for the thousandth time that Cas would just let him groom the things.

“You’ve never complained before.” Dean bites his lip and sighs, dropping his arms. “Cas...I’m bored. Like, really bored.” He drops to the bed and falls onto his back, looking a lot like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “There’s nothing to do here. Seriously, what do you do all day? No TV, no library…” He glances at Cas. “I’m human. I can’t just stare at the wall all day. I need stimulation.”

Cas sighs and turns to face him, rolling his shoulders back one at a time. “You want television? Books? I can arrange for one of the angels to bring those things to you.” He took a few steps in Dean’s direction. “Whatever you want, you only need ask.”

_ Some more of that oil might be nice. _

Dean quickly shut his brain off, hoping Cas didn’t catch that stray thought or the images associated with it. He nods and clears his throat, tracing patterns in the sheets on the bed. 

“Yeah, okay...thank you. Sorry, it’s just...didn’t really know if that was an option.” He looks up, chews the inside of his cheek, looks back down. 

“You’re not a prisoner here, Dean.”

“Right…” Dean murmurs unconvincingly, then clicks his tongue. “Uh, you know...it gets kind of lonely, too. Might be nice to have someone to hang out with…” He looks at Cas pointedly. 

“Um…” Cas falters, at a loss. “I can...assign someone to…’hang out’ with you, if you

wish.” He holds his hands out slightly to his side in the beginning of a shrug, then drops them back down, fidgeting awkwardly.

Dean sighs and drops his head onto the mattress. He looks up at the sky and counts to five, reminding himself that Cas isn’t good with subtle. 

“No, Cas...no,” he says slowly, looking back at him and smiling slightly. Even with all that power, Cas is still awkward with anything social. “I meant you. You really think I wanna hang out with your angels? I want to hang out with you. Remember, we used to…” Dean shrugs, looking down at his hands. “Don’t angels get lonely?”

“No,” Cas says quickly, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind. He frowns. “I just mean...angels don’t have the same...needs as humans, I suppose. But if it’s  _ my _ company you desire, you may...join me, in the throne room.” He licks his lips again nervously, shrugging all the way this time. “Although, I can’t promise that will be any more entertaining for you.”

Dean sighs and rubs his eyes, opening his mouth to beg off, then snaps it shut. At first glance, sitting in the throne room and listening to angels drone on about whatever they’re complaining about sounds about as interesting as watching paint dry. But, if Dean is in there with Cas, being a dutiful little human, he may be able to help Cas make decisions. Good decisions. Decisions that don’t kill too many people.

“Alright,” Dean says, sitting up and smiling. “I can do that. I  bet my company is better than whatever angel you’ve got in there, anway. Not a chatty bunch, are they?”

“They come to me with requests, missions, reports. I respond as necessary. There’s no need for chatter beyond the explicit duties they ask of me.” Cas sighs and rubs his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger, looking more tired than normal. “I feel I should warn you...some of what you hear from them, you are not going to like.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugs and climbs off of the bed. “Some of what I say back to them they may not like. It’ll even out.”

He moves to the closet, pulling out a shirt that doesn’t have holes in it and jeans he hasn’t been wearing for three days. Somehow his whole wardrobe had appeared here, which was weird at first, but proving to be nice. 

“Sounds like you need company anyway, if it’s really that boring,” Dean hums, taking off his shirt and slipping the new one on. “ ‘No need for chatter’? Come on, Cas, not everything is about work. You can enjoy life a little. It won’t kill ya.”

“Well, I’m God. Nothing can kill me, anyway.” 

Dean thinks he’s making a joke until he turns to look at him, finding Cas enthralled once again by the clouds out the window and not at all looking to be in a joking mood. 

Cas turns back to him, taking a deep breath before walking past him to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“Understand, you joining me does not alter anything. You must still be obedient. I cannot abide you disrespecting me in front of the angels. You must be, as they say, ‘on your best behavior’.”

“Of course, Cas,” Dean says, buttoning up his jeans then coming to stand beside Cas. He means it, too. He doesn’t have any desire to go back to that cell, especially since Dumah is a semi-permanent resident now. 

He follows silently, eyes cast down, though he still watches his surroundings like any hunter would. Old habits die hard. 

The throne room is just as impressive as before, dark with soft lighting coming from odd directions. Cas takes a few steps up the stairs, and Dean hesitates at the bottom. “Where do you want me?” he asks, looking around.

Cas looks at him, then pointedly to the landing at the bottom of the steps, waving a hand in that general direction.

“I’ll have someone bring a chair in for you later,” he says dismissively, “but for now, just stand anywhere you’d like. And please, don’t antagonize any of them.” He gives Dean a hard look before continuing up the stairs, then stops and turns back, the trench coat billowing slightly at the movement. “I feel I should also warn you: Dumah’s time in her cell is almost finished. She will be back at the soon.”

Dean shrugs, expecting as much. The news on Dumah is disconcerting, but he’ll deal with it. If worse comes to worst, he’ll kill her and take whatever punishment Cas doles out.

“Fine,” he says, not sounding the least bit concerned. He stands, relaxed, at the bottom of the stairs, hands behind his back. He looks around curiously, pausing at the pillars with their stories carved into stone. He tries to make sense of them and actually manages to read a few. Some are Bible stories he knows, some are things he’s never seen or heard of. Heaven’s history, all the way up to Cas’s takeover.

The doors of the throne room open and Cael enters with Afriel. Everything about them is uniform, from their clothes to their strides. They both stop at the bottom of the steps, Cael only briefly glancing over at Dean before greeting Castiel.

“Sir,” he says dutifully, nodding.

“My Lord,” Afriel starts, her long, red braid bobbing as she inclines her head, as well. “I’m sorry to report that we lost track of Samael’s whereabouts.”

Cas rubs his eyes wearily for the second time in less than half an hour, letting out a muffled groan from behind his hand, sniffing loudly as he drops it back to the stone armrest.

“I was told there was good news today,” he says, giving Afriel a disappointed glare. She lowers her eyes, her lip trembling slightly.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she says quickly, her hands clasped behind her back and fidgeting. “We were able to locate Baraqiel.”

Cas perks in his seat, an eyebrow quirked. “The tracker?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Cas drums his fingers along the cold stone, his tongue coming to rest behind his teeth. “This  _ is  _ good news. Thank you, Afriel. Have him brought to me. That’s all.”

The angels nod once more and take their leave, the sound of the shutting door echoing off the bare walls of the throne room. Cas shifts slightly in his seat, rolling his shoulders to adjust his wings’ positions by his sides, expanding past each arm of the massive throne and partially pooling on the stone below.

Dean doesn’t wait for his chair. He makes himself comfortable on the bottom step, leaning back on his hands. He tilts his head back, glancing up at Cas upside down. His eyes stray to the wings and he sighs softly. They look like silk, if still slightly dry and dull, and Dean wants to feel them on his skin. A terrifying thought, since they also look like they could take his head off. 

“Tracker?” he asks, quirking a brow, and turns to face Cas. He bends a leg, a hand coming to rest on it, leaning back against the other. “He one of Raphael’s?” 

Cas splays his fingers on the armrests, dragging his teeth across his bottom lip. He looks down, clicking his tongue and raising his eyebrows as he watches himself trace patterns into the stone with his pointer finger.

“Baraqiel has chosen to remain neutral in this particular heavenly battle. Which, of course, is unsatisfactory,” he finally says, tapping the finger against the stone. “Samael was one of Raphael’s. It just so happens that Baraqiel is the best angel tracker known to me, and of course he does not want to be found. All angels were to pledge themselves to me, or automatically consent to be destroyed.” He gives Dean a long look and licks his lips before continuing. “Samael is of particular interest to me, but I need Baraqiel to find him.”

Dean finds himself only half listening, watching Cas’s fingers slide across the throne’s armrest. He’s been touched by Cas before, but only for healing and teleporting. He wonders, not for the first time, what it might feel like to have those fingers dance across his skin. 

“Samael,” Dean repeats, blinking and tearing his eyes away. “Why so interested in him? And if Baraqiel was neutral, what makes you think he’ll comply?” 

“Samael has particular gifts…” Cas starts slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I have a job, rather, for him...in which his particular skill set will be of use to me.” He clears his throat, crossing one of his legs over the other. “Baraqiel will comply because I will demand it. And if he does not…” Cas shrugs, his brow quirked again as he turns his attention back to the patterns he’s drawing in the stone.

Dean runs his tongue over his teeth, watching Castiel carefully. He wants to ask what this ‘skill set’ is, but knows better by now. If Cas doesn’t offer up the information, then he has no intention of Dean knowing said information. 

Dean hums, inspecting his nails, looking as disinterested as possible. As much as it grates on him, he needs to seem harmless. The less of a threat he looks to Cas, the more the new God will share with him. At least, that’s the plan, anyway. 

“I’m sure he’ll cave,” Dean chuckles, picking lint off his shirt. “Even if he isn’t afraid of death. There are worse things.” 

Cas hums in agreement, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Indeed.”

He uncrosses his legs again, resting both feet flat on the stone floor, and leans forward in his chair.

“Do you need anything, Dean? I can have them bring you whatever you wish.”

Dean shifts, moving a step up so he can incline his legs somewhat. “Something to drink maybe,” he shrugs, stretching himself out. He keeps his expression at ease, but inside his heart speeds up. Cas actively looking to please him is a step in the right direction, as far as his plans go, but it also gives him more hope. Hope that maybe this Cas actually cares, even if it’s in his own twisted way. And hope that the old Cas is peeking through. 

Cas nods and closes his eyes for a moment, and an angel comes through the door almost instantaneously. He’s one Dean has never seen before, skinny with short, dark hair and glasses, and he walks hurriedly—and a little clumsily—to the bottom of the steps, shaking like a leaf.

“S-sir?”

“Dean requires a beverage and a place to sit,” Cas says swiftly, oblivious to the angel’s terror.

The angel swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he looks over at Dean with wide eyes. Castiel clears his throat loudly, leaning forward in his seat, his voice low and full of warning when he speaks.

“Jophiel. Go. Now.”

Jophiel nods furiously and bows, taking a few steps back.

“Y-yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord.”

He practically falls over himself trying to get out of the room, and Cas’s gaze never leaves him the entire time, only moving to Dean once the heavy door slams behind him.

Dean almost feels sorry for Jophiel. Poor guy looked downright terrified, ready to shit himself, if that was even possible for angels. He wants to laugh, and almost does, but he’s too preoccupied with Cas’s very interesting reaction to Jophiel’s staring.

It could have been Cas’s ever-decreasing patience with anything weaker than himself, which was to say everything that existed now. But even so, the tone of voice had been a little harsh for simple impatience. 

Dean sighs and goes back to staring at the columns. He isn’t going to read too much into it yet. Cas is an enigma. For all he knows, Cas had simply not liked the way the angel had been dressed. 

After a few minutes, Dean feels the hair on the back of his neck standing. He blinks and looks back, finding Cas staring intently at him. He turns to face Cas, quirking a brow. “Something I can do for you, Master?” he asks, giving Castiel a small smile.

It takes Cas a moment of hesitation before he snaps out of his trance, licking his lips quickly and swallowing. His clears his throat and shakes his head a little, leaning back in his seat once more.

“No...um. I’m fine. Thank you.” 

Interesting.

Dean keeps his gaze on Cas for a moment longer, smile widening, before shrugging and turning away. “Well, you just let me know if I can do anything for you.” He pauses thoughtfully, “Master.”

He smirks to himself when Cas shifts again. So the angel likes the “Master” thing. That might be fun.

Dean looks up when the doors open once again and Jophiel comes stumbling in. He has a few cold beers and a rather plain-looking chair. Dean clicks his tongue, but holds back his opinions. It’s not like he was expecting a throne, but something that wasn’t from the dollar store might have been nicer.

Cas watches as Jophiel clatters over to Dean with the chair, setting it at the bottom of the steps. He hands Dean the beers without looking at him, his head actually turned away. 

Castiel scoffs loudly, pushing up from his seat and stalking down the steps, eyes trained on the angel, whose eyes go wide with fear when he realizes that Cas is heading toward him.

“What _ is this _ ?” Cas hisses, his face inches from Jophiel’s. “Did you honestly think I’d allow this?” He picks up the chair and thrusts it back into Jophiel’s arms, his eyes hard. 

“Don’t come back until you find something suitable,” Cas spits, glaring in the angel’s direction as he scrambles back out of the room while uttering several ‘yes, sir’s and ‘sorry my Lord’s’.

Dean wants to laugh and then immediately feels like shit for it. He’s getting the impression Jophiel is not Cas’s favorite angel, though the reason is lost on Dean. The guy seems perfectly submissive, if a little clumsy.

Dean cracks open a beer and takes a sip, humming appreciatively. “Chair may have been crap, but at least the beer is good.” He takes another sip and lounges once again on the steps; this time on the third one. “He always that nervous?” Dean gestures to the door and glances up at Cas.

“Yes,” Cas says irritably, finally tearing his gaze from the door and looking over at Dean. He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face then starts back up the steps, rolling his shoulders. His wings fall in behind him and trail up the steps, like a river cascading in reverse. The tip of one wing brushes over Dean’s fingers and he shivers. The fingers tingle pleasantly and itch to feel more. He almost reaches out, barely stopping himself. Dean huffs and stuffs his hand into his lap, because apparently he just can’t trust himself.

He settles for watching them, sliding over the steps like silk, a dark waterfall Dean wants to drown in. When Cas sits back down, Dean looks away and licks his lips, tapping a finger against his bottle.

“He reminds of Professor Quirrell, from Harry Potter,” Dean snorts. “Fidgety, nervous...he turned out to be the bad guy.” Dean shrugs and takes another sip.

Cas quirks a brow at him, tilting his head to the side, his lips slightly parted.

“I’m sorry, I...I don’t understand that reference,” Cas says blandly, shaking his head a little.

Dean blinks and looks up. “Uh... he stutters, “wore a turban— you know what?” Dean waves his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. Nevermind.”

Jophiel returns once more, as nervous as ever, but this time he has a well-cushioned arm chair. He trips twice carrying it over to Dean, going to great pains to keep his eyes averted. Dean thinks it’s a little weird, but everything about this angel is weird.

“Thanks,” Dean says as he sits down, smiling slightly.

Jophiel freezes and doesn’t seem to know how to react to the gratitude. He blinks, staring openly at Dean, and nods jerkily. 

“Y-you’re welcome,” he stutters out, bowing his head.

“Thank you,” Castiel says to him a little softer, gentler, “now get out.” 

He slumps down in his seat as the angel leaves again, sighing heavily as he rubs at his forehead, shifting his wings a little.

“Better?” he asks Dean finally, looking down at him from his perch.

Dean nods, stroking the neck of his beer thoughtfully. “Yes, thank you,” he smiles and glances as Cas’s twitching wings. 

He hesitates. The wings are clearly still bothering him, albeit not as badly as before. Dean wants to help—and not just for purely selfish, sexual-fantasy reasons. It’s a sensitive subject for Cas, though. They’re getting along today, for the most part. Dean doesn’t want to ruin the relaxed atmosphere between them.

However, he wouldn’t be a very good servant if he didn’t at least ask.

“Your wings…” Dean says carefully. “How are they?”

Cas parts his lips again as he looks down at Dean, shifting his shoulders against the back of the throne once more. 

“They’re...a little sore,” he admits, quickly adding, “but much better now than they were before.”

“Hmm,” Dean sets his beer down on the floor and shifts in his seat. He leans against an arm and throws his legs over the other, looking relaxed and comfortable. “Still sore. That won’t do.”

He smiles, swinging a leg back and forth. “I can fix that for you. I never got to finish last time.”

Cas gives him a regretful look. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dean.”

“Oh…” Dean pouts a little and sighs. “Whatever you want, Cas.” He rubs at the back of his head, feeling an odd sense of rejection. “I just...don’t like to see you in pain, is all.”

He shrugs and reaches for his beer again, taking a sip before leaning his head back to look up the a darkening sky-ceiling-thing. Dean’s not sure what to call half of what he sees here.

“It’s just…” Cas continues, searching for the words, “I’m not sure it’s...appropriate, for me to...to be... _ touched _ that way, by a...by—” he waves his hand around nervously.

“A human,” Dean says, his face falling in disappointment. He sighs and wipes the expression off his face, chugging the rest of his beer. Maybe it will dull the ache in his chest.

“You’re right, of course,” Dean shrugs, shifting to sit properly in his seat. “I’m not...worthy to touch you.” He tries to keep his voice light, but he’s not sure how successful he is. Thankfully, another angel walks in at that moment and Dean is spared. He spaces out as the angel reports something he has no interest in, eyes sliding over the dark, shifting floor.

Netzach informs Cas of the now-clean water supply in a small U.S. city, one of the small errands he only needs to send one angel for, and he simply nods in response, his eyes still on Dean. Netzach bows and leaves without a fuss.

“That’s not exactly what I mean,” Cas says finally, “but…” he sighs heavily, pursing his lips. “Our wings are the most sensitive area on our bodies. The process of having them groomed is very intimate, and I have a lot of work to do. I can’t afford any...distractions.”

Dean is quiet, running his tongue along his teeth, looking into the dark glass of the now-empty bottle. Finally, he slowly nods and looks up. “Well I don’t want to... _ distract _ you,” he says, lips quirking. He bows his head, looking properly abashed, a silent apology.

Cas raises his head a little in surprise and finally gives a hard nod.

“Good.”

The pace of angels coming in and out began to quicken shortly after that. Dean listens halfheartedly, some of the news interesting, if a bit worrisome: the activities and status of various politicians from all over the world (including the President), reports on fellow angels, ones who defected from Raphael shortly before or after his death. Cas didn’t trust these angels and wants them observed carefully.

Samael comes up again and Dean tries to watch Cas’s face, but he doesn’t get any answers. He’s going to have to work harder on that. Clearly whatever this angel can do, Cas doesn’t want him knowing.

Eventually, Dean heaves himself out of his chair, never one to sit for very long. He walks the base of the stairs, to move his legs. Then up and down the first few steps, second beer hanging from his hand. He pretends to be slightly bored, uninterested in Cas’s business. He gets distracted by Cas’s wings more than once and finds himself halfway up the stairs before he can stop himself. Cas doesn’t seem to notice or care. So he stays, watching Cas become thoroughly involved with issuing orders. 

Somehow, over a couple of hours, Dean finds himself on the top landing. He’s gone through all his beers and Cas is looking annoyed and frustrated with a particularly incompetent angel. Dean leans against the throne, careful of the wings, and watches with some amusement as the angel stutters under Cas’s gaze.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” she says, her short brown hair bobbing as she bows her head. “I...lost track of them. Raphael’s followers must be cloaking themselves. The ones that were left have all suddenly disappeared.”

Cas clenches the fist resting on the arm of the throne, his jaw set as he looks down at the angel with disdain. 

“Baraqiel,” he says suddenly, “the tracker. Has he been located yet?”

The angels shrinks into herself a little more, shaking her head. She looks up at him through her lashes, her gaze falling just short of the throne.

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” she says, head dropping in shame, “but they think they’re closing in. Hannah is confident that he will be brought to Heaven by tomorrow.”

Cas nods again and waves his hand dismissively, and the angel bows and leaves. Cas leans forward, groaning as he rests his face in his hands.

Dean grunts as he watched the angel scurry out the door. He turns to Cas and sighs, running his hand over his day old scruff. 

“Lot of talk and little result,” he scoffs, moving to sit on an armrest. “They’re so busy tripping over themselves, they’re failing even simple tasks.” 

Dean gives Cas a side glance. “You look stressed, Master…” he trails off, relishing that he’s so close to the angel. 

Cas huffs a laugh, running his hands over his face as he sits back. “Stressed would be a glaring understatement.”

Dean bites his bottom lip, glancing briefly at the very empty space of Castiel’s lap. He could think of ways to fill that gap. 

“Whatever I can do to help, Cas…” he says slowly, dragging his eyes up Cas’s body to rest on his face. “You just let me know.”

Cas shifts his shoulders a little, opening and closing his mouth. He sits up and clears his throat, then closes his eyes and presses his middle and forefingers to his temple, nodding after a moment.

“That’s all for today,” he says bitterly, giving the room a once-over. “Perhaps tomorrow the news will be better.”

He stands, smoothing down his tie and eyeing Dean, then the chair at the bottom of the steps. He quirks a brow, amused.

“Was your chair not acceptable to you?”

Dean dips his head, managing to look somewhat ashamed, though secretly pleased Cas wasn't angry. 

“No, no, it was fine,” he shrugs, running a finger down the armrest. Dean smiles and stands, hands in his pockets. “I just like the company better up here.” 

Cas hums, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks between Dean and the door to the rear of the throne, his gaze ultimately settling on Dean.

“Well, I-” he clears his throat again, gesturing vaguely to the door then dropping his hands to his sides, then moving them to his pockets. His wings flutter a little around him, a couple of random feathers twitching as they settle again. “I think I’ll retire to my room for the evening.”

Dean glances quickly at the door then nods. He’d been wondering where Cas holed himself up. 

“I’ll entertain myself, then,” Dean shrugs and smiles, lazily making his way down the steps. 

Cas eyes him warily, watching his every move while leaning against the throne, arms crossed over his chest. “What do you intend to do?”

Dean quirks a brow and clicks his tongue. “Still don’t trust me, Cas? That hurts, you know…” He rolls his eyes. “I was just going to go back to my room. I’m assuming I have a TV now, at least?” 

Castiel nods slowly, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall limply to his sides. “They should have taken care of that for you today, yes.”

“Great,” Dean makes his way towards the doors. “I’ll just...leave you to it, then.” He glances back, eyeing Cas’s oddly twitching wings, and slowly smiles. “You come get me if you need anything, Master.” 

He leaves, still whistling, empty beer bottles swinging in his hand. 

\----

Cas watches him leave, staring at the closed door for a moment before turning to enter his own room, pushing the door closed behind him. 

The never-ending ceiling of the room is pitch black, and there's soft uplighting around the trim of the room where the walls meet the floor. It's meticulously crisp and clean, with showy, ornate pieces of furniture, several thousands of years old and still in pristine condition. The bed—preposterous and needless- is the centerpiece of the room, ridiculously large and draped in expensive white linens. There are more linens draped around the canopy, these sheer but in several layers, shielding the surface of the bed. 

Cas sheds his trench and jacket, loosening and pulling off his tie, and throws them all onto one of several couches whose frames are decorated with hand-sculpted designs. He finds them to be gaudy and over the top, but old relics, nonetheless. 

He finally makes his way over to his favorite window, sinking slowly into the finely upholstered chair and propping an elbow on the armrest, resting his head in his hand. The sky is dark and the clouds look full and heavy. Cas expects the rain will start anytime now. 

He always did enjoy the rain. 

\----

The halls of Heaven are quiet, this late. Cas’s angels are either huddled in their respective rooms (or whatever they had), or off doing who-knows-what. Dean is alone as he ambles along, in no hurry to get where he’s going. 

He’d gotten back to his room hours before, to find that nothing had been added. It seemed getting Dean a TV was a low priority. At the time, he hadn’t cared. Drained from the performance he put on in the throne room, Dean had collapsed onto his bed and passed out. 

Now he’s up and annoyed. It’s a trivial thing to be upset about, when the fate of the whole world hangs in the balance, but damn it! Dean isn’t doing another day of mindless pacing. 

So, feeling brave, he makes his way to Cas’s room. The throne room is empty and quiet. Dean stands outside Cas’s door for a solid five minutes, hoping Cas is still in a good mood. 

Bracing himself, he knocks. 

Waits. 

Knocks again. 

More waiting. 

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair. After a moment’s hesitation, he softly opens the door and slides himself inside, closing it quietly behind him. 

Dean gapes at the enormous space around him. It’s much too large for one person, giving him a sense of unease—even standing just inside the door—from just how much space there is and how few material things reside inside: only a couple of chairs, some couches, and a very large bed, which looks entirely too inviting. Taking a few steps inside, he crosses over in front of one of the couches and looks around, surveying the room. He doesn’t see Cas anywhere, but perhaps there’s a bathroom, or…

Dean shakes his head. Not that Cas would need a bathroom. At least, he doesn’t think he would. He reaches the end of a wall,  rounds the corner, and freezes.

There’s a large, arched doorway leading out to a balcony with glass-paned French doors,  shutting out what appears to be a raging storm. The sky is dark and angry, flickering spectacularly with lightning, trees bowing with the wind. Just as he takes a step forward, a loud clap of thunder makes him jump, but it’s not what freezes him again in his tracks.

Out on the balcony, seated calmly on the concrete with his back to the door, legs crossed and head bowed, is Castiel. 

Suddenly, Dean feels like he may have definitely interrupted something extremely private. Incredibly...intimate, as Cas had said about having his wings groomed. This feels one thousand times more intimate than that.

Castiel is stripped of all his clothes,  his six wings spread wide on either side of him. The storm rages all around, lightning flashing everywhere, until something hits. Dean sucks in a breath as Cas’s body lights up, the wing tips flaring, feathers ruffling. The raw energy spreads and Dean can see bones, and the odd shape of what Dean is guessing is Cas’s trueform. Stuck, snug inside the vessel. 

It’s beautiful and utterly terrifying. 

He watches as lightning strikes Cas again. Dean begins to tremble. Is the storm feeding Cas, or is Cas feeding the storm? Over and over, that form lights up, and Dean catches more glimpses of the creature that lies beneath the skin:  tumbling, quivering, pulsing, shrinking and expanding. Alien. 

He wants to reach out and touch it, even if it kills him. He wants to worship this creature, this god, because that’s what Cas is. He isn’t an angel anymore. He’s something bigger, more dangerous, more wild. And Dean, inexplicably, wants him. Every part of him. 

Dean moves forward on autopilot and opens the doors silently, although the storm is raging so loudly that the small sound of an opening door would be inaudible to a human.

But Cas is a God. Or rather,  _ is _ God.

The sound of the door has Cas tensing; Dean can see it in the hard rigidity of his shoulders. Dean pauses and sucks in a breath, but Cas doesn’t move. Dean never realized before exactly how solid Cas is, how broad and muscular, how tightly his tanned skin stretches over those muscles and accentuates each groove and plane. Another clap of thunder has Cas’s shoulders relaxing again, and lightning strikes the tip of his left wing, the electricity radiating through him, right in front of Dean’s eyes. Dean lets out a shaky breath and steps forward, mesmerized, barely registering the warm mist of rain against his face that quickly soaks his hair and clothes. 

Cas lifts his head and rests his hands on his thighs, causing the muscles in his back to ripple and raise his wings marginally. 

Dean can’t take his eyes off him. The wind around him whips at his body, but he hardly notices. His hand grabs for the door, helping to steady him against the storm. He’s soaked through, now, clothes plastered to his body. His knees are weak and they give out. 

Dean lands hard on the balcony floor and he grunts at the pain. He’s mere inches from Cas, feathers brushing his face. They sting, shooting pricks of electricity through his skin. Dean leans in for more. It’s hot, burning, and sets his whole body alight. He shudders violently, pain and pleasure mixing like the storm swirling around him. 

When the next strike of lightning hits, Cas pushes himself to his knees and holds his arms out by his sides, palm up, letting the current roar through him, his true form flashing under his skin. It roils through him like black smoke, barely contained within his vessel, and as Dean watches, he swears that every time the lightning strikes he can see several eyes staring back at him through the translucency of Cas's skull. Dean swallows hard as those eyes roam over him. As Cas rises to his feet, his trueform seems to lean toward Dean, reaching out, almost touching Dean's head, almost,  _ almost _ …

Cas's wings curl in on themselves as his true form returns inside his vessel, then unfurl again. Dean's holding his breath again, his eyes drawn from the ethereal wings to the bright blaze of Cas's eyes, radiating from his irises and into Dean's very soul. Cas’s lips are parted,  his hair is windblown and sticking up in all directions as he slowly lowers his arms back to his sides and clenches his jaw. 

_ Crap _ . 

Dean's eyes are watering, he realizes now. His breathing is shallow and he's trembling, staring up at Cas with wide eyes, his hand tentatively reaching out without his consent, shaking violently.

Reaching desperately for Cas. 

Cas's features don't relax, but after a beat he reaches out his hand, too. They meet in the middle, fingers touching, soft and innocent. A surge of power transfers through their fingertips and sets Dean on fire. He gasps brokenly and his back arches as the power roars through him. 

Dean misses the contact immediately when Cas pulls his fingers away, but only for a moment.  Cas steps forward and moves his hand past Dean's, to the top of his head. Dean sighs and the tears run down his cheeks. He closes his eyes as Cas buries his fingers in Dean’s hair and rubs gently. 

Dean feels so...small. In the past, Cas had always been...just Cas. A weird, dorky little guy. Awkward around everyone, didn’t understand porn, and could never get that damn tie on right. An angel who didn’t act like an angel. Who broke ranks—and every law Heaven had—to help Dean stop the Apocalypse, to rewrite what had already been written by God himself. 

Now, Castiel is something he doesn’t recognize. Something big and terrifying, something that demands to be worshiped and deserves to be. Cas isn’t gone, isn’t someone else. He’s just evolved out of necessity, taking up the slack where his father has failed.

“Cas…” Dean whispers, broken and hoarse. His throat feels as if it’s raw, burned, and he swallows around the lump lodged there. He has nothing to say, but wants simply to feel the name on his tongue. “ _ Castiel. _ ”

Cas's lips don't move but Dean hears his voice anyway, echoing in his head:  deep, gravelly and authoritative. 

_ “Righteous man.” _

It sends a shiver down his spine and leaves goosebumps in its wake. Cas's expression is softer now, but his eyes still burn as he looks down. Dean finds himself holding his breath again as he looks up at Cas, his tongue coming to rest behind his teeth. 

Suddenly he's face to face with God, and Dean can't breathe. All he can do is watch as Cas leans in and presses a tender kiss to his forehead, just below his hairline. 

It feels hot against his skin. Dean sucks in a desperate breath and reaches up, grasping Castiel’s wrist and squeezing tightly. It’s all too much and not enough. He wants more, wants to suffocate in it, though his instincts are yelling at him to pull away. His desires win out without much of a fight and he leans forward, seeking less space between them. 

The air is thick around them. Dean works hard to breathe and closes his eyes when a wave of dizziness hits him. His grip on Cas weakens and then he’s falling forward, only Castiel’s body keeping him from landing on the concrete of the balcony. Black spots dot his vision, and still Dean presses himself closer to the source of the power that is probably going to rip his body apart. 


	5. Chapter 5

The next thing he feels is weightlessness as he's lifted effortlessly into Cas's arms again, and the sky is spinning as Cas moves, carrying him back in through the doors. The sound of the storm all but disappears when the doors close behind them, shrouding them in deafening silence. Dean closes his eyes and shivers despite the warmth of Cas's body, his clothes clinging to his body. 

Cas lays him gently on the massive bed and straightens back up, his wings lowering and pressing closely to his back. He runs a hand through his damp hair, pushing it out of his face, and presses his lips into a thin line, frowning slightly. 

“I’m-I’m so sorry,” Dean stutters out, the cold starting to set in through his wet clothes. He closes his eyes, jaw clenched, hardening himself to whatever punishment Castiel wishes to administer. He deserves it. He’s witnessed something incredibly private, intimate, something he was _ never _ meant to see. He’s caught a glimpse of the alien beneath the skin, an image no human has ever seen.

“So sorry, Master.” The apologies spill out, Dean murmuring an endless stream of them. Castiel’s name falling off his lips like a prayer, begging forgiveness, cold hands desperately reaching up.

The blaze has faded from Cas's eyes now and he clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring and raindrops dripping from his eyelashes and nose down to his bare chest. 

He raises a hand and Dean involuntarily flinches, but Cas just beckons him forward.

“Come, Dean.”

Dean sits up and moves forward, water dripping from his nose and eyes. He stares at Castiel questioningly, wanting only to please and unsure if he ever could. Nothing else matters in this moment but to serve, to please, to make up for every stupid human mistake he’s ever made.

Cas leans down and grabs the hem of Dean's shirt, peeling it from his skin and lifting it over his head to drop to the floor. He takes a step back and motions Dean forward again. 

“Stand,” he commands, eyes intently searching Dean's face. 

Dean scrambles to his feet, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. His eyes can’t stay still. They dance, bouncing from the too-blue eyes to the still-crackling wings, sparks of lightning running across the ridge of thick muscle and bone. He tries to keep his gaze above the waist, though Castiel’s chest is distracting enough. Glistening from the water, rising with calm breaths, nipples perked and inviting. 

Dean shakes his head, focusing once more, poised to comply with whatever demand Cas gives.

Cas licks his lips and steps forward, his eyes meeting Dean's as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans. He pauses, breathing steadily, and Dean can see the raindrops on his skin slowly evaporating from the inexplicable heat he produces. 

“Take off your shoes,” he says softly. While Dean complies, Cas turns and walks away, disappearing into a door on the far wall that Dean hadn't noticed before. 

Dean stands, silent, waiting, shivering from the water cooling on his skin. He moves to take off his jeans, but Cas hadn’t told him to. So he stops and waits, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He couldn’t get a read on Cas, but is that really anything new? He supposes if Cas is really angry, he’d have made it known by now.

With a growing horror, Dean slowly realizes his jeans are tight and not because they’re wet. With them unbuttoned, it’s painfully noticeable. He hadn’t even noticed before, even with Cas’s fingers down there just moments before. He wants to hide it, but Cas has already seen. Dean shifts, the wet denim uncomfortable on his cock. 

Cas returns a few moments later and strides over to Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him to the room he’d disappeared into, which turns out to be a very luxurious bathroom. It's much like the one in his own room, Dean realizes, except somehow much bigger and more grand. The tub in the middle of the room commands his attention, full almost to the brim with steaming water. Cas guides him to the edge and turns to face him again, re-establishing eye contact as he pushes Dean’s jeans and boxers to his ankles and gently lifts each foot to pull his socks off.

When he stands again, he raises a hand to Dean's chest, tilting his head as he presses his palm over Dean's heart, his eyes falling to where their skin meets. He's staring at Dean's chest, but it's more than that… like he's seeing further than flesh and bone. 

“You really are quite beautiful, Dean,” Cas says quietly, his brow furrowing, stare unwavering. 

Dean almost blushes, but somehow understands what Cas really means by that.

_ His soul.  _

No matter how beautiful his soul, though, it can’t be anything compared to Cas. The little bit he saw of Castiel’s true form had been breathtaking (literally), otherworldly, staggering. To think that this creature, larger than life itself, finds him to be beautiful was dizzying. 

Dean looks back at the inviting water, strangely uncaring of his nakedness. With Cas, it doesn’t matter. He sees the soul, the body merely a wrapper. 

He’s more curious as to what is happening. A bath is the last thing he expected. 

“What are you going to do with me, Master?” Dean asks quietly, proud that his voice only quivers a little.

There's a pause before Cas meets his eyes again, and Dean immediately misses the warmth when Cas drops his hand to his side. 

“Your body temperature has dropped,” Cas says simply, gesturing to the tub by way of explanation. “We must remedy that. Get in.”

Dean can’t fight the disappointment and his face falls just slightly. He nods wordlessly and climbs in. The tub (more of a pool, it’s so damn big) has a bench built in. Dean settles himself on it, the pleasantly warm water seeping into him. He already feels better and sighs deeply as the shivers subside. His eyes slide shut and he sinks down until the water is up to his chin. 

Cas settles himself on a bench outside the tub and reaches into a nearby basket, pulling out a sponge from amongst the various soaps and other bathing necessities. He dips it into the water and squeezes, then moves to sit behind Dean on the outside of the tub and brings the sponge up to his chest, wringing the water out. He repeats the motion several times, wordlessly busying himself with the primary goal of making Dean warm again. He brings his other hand up to Dean's neck and rests it there, then replaces it with the sponge, which he drags slowly down Dean’s neck and across his shoulder, pausing momentarily where still Dean bears the faint scar of his hand print.

Dean is sad Cas didn’t join him in the water, but the attention being paid to him almost makes up for it. He soaks it up, greedy and selfish for it, and practically purrs at the slow drag of the sponge. The hand on his neck is relaxed but possessive, and Dean loves the feeling. He has the sudden, quiet revelation that he wants to be owned. To be Castiel’s, only his, to use and play with however he pleases. When Cas brushes against the old scar, sparks fly once again. Dean jerks slightly and leans into it, eyes fluttering open. They settle on Cas, staring openly and hazily.

“Tell me, Dean,” Cas starts softly, his attentions still on bathing him, “are you happy here?”

Dean’s fuzzy brain suddenly clears and grinds to a halt. He opens his mouth, wanting to say yes, but he chokes. He’s afraid Castiel will sense it’s only a half-truth. The last thing Dean wants to do is lie to him.

“I’m happy...with you,” he says carefully, knowing this to be true. He swallows, deciding only utter honesty would be wise. “Sometimes...this place is too…” He searches for the right word. “Cold? Um, empty? I’m used to sharing my space, I guess. You know, always had Sammy around.” He shrugs, looking down and playing with the water. “My room is nice, Master...but it’s lonely sometimes.”

Cas says nothing for a moment, instead running the sponge across Dean’s chest and back down the other arm. He dips it into the water again and pulls back slightly, running it down the back of Dean’s neck.

“I want you to be comfortable here,” he says gently, his voice sounding dangerously close to Dean’s ear. “You have given up everything to be here, and it has not gone unnoticed.”

He moves the sponge across Dean’s chest again and back up across his shoulders, squeezing the water along the hard ridges.

“What do you need, Dean?”

Dean blushes deeply and it has nothing to do with the warm water. He can feel Cas’s hot breath on his ear, the movements of the soft sponge against his overly sensitive skin, and none of it is helping his situation between his knees.

He opens his mouth and the response that tumbles out is embarrassingly unfiltered. “You,” Dean says, then snaps his jaw shut. He scoffs at himself and looks away.

“I’ve always been here for you, Dean,” Cas says simply, continuing his ministrations. “The situation that we have now doesn’t change anything. I had hoped that you would see that. That…” he sighs and drops the sponge in the water, moving to face Dean, catching his eyes, “I am not the bad guy here, Dean. I made the best out of a bad situation and I didn’t want to lose my friends to do it, but...it had to be done. The lives claimed, the bloodshed...it is all necessary.”

Dean searches Cas’s face, thinking that it’s too beautiful and not fair that he has to face it every day. “I know, Cas...I know that now,” he sighs and dips his head. “I still find it... difficult, sometimes. I’m a hunter. It’s always been my job to save people…”

He shuts off thoughts of how he’s still doing his job, saving as many lives as he can from Cas’s tunnel-vision wrath. Instead, Dean turns to Cas and runs his tongue over his lip. “I just mean...you’re all I have now,” he says quietly. “I want  _ more  _ of you. Not just to be your servant on missions or in the throne room. I need companionship.”

Behind him, Cas’s wings twitch, ruffling the feathers and spraying drops of water onto the floor. He sits back and sighs, running a hand over his face.

“I...I’m not sure how much more I can offer you,” he says softly. “I am responsible for the kingdom of Heaven and all aspects of Earth. Doing this job and having friends...it’s difficult. I did not plan for it. Until you came to me with your offer, I was prepared to be alone in this. I cannot afford to look weak. Do you understand?”

_ Weak. _

Dean bristles and looks away. He takes a deep, slow breath, his heart dropping to his stomach, his chest constricting.

“...Yes,” he says roughly. “I understand.”

Dean stands suddenly and climbs out. “I’m warm enough. Thank you.”

He glances at his clothes, which are magically dry. He swipes them up, movements jerky, and slips them on quickly. 

“Dean.”

Cas stands and faces him and Dean once again has to actively force his eyes to Cas’s face, as opposed to the rest of his body. Apparently angels are shameless when it comes to nudity.

_ As God intended, _ Dean thinks bitterly.

“You asked...about my wings earlier,” he starts slowly, looking away, “and I...well. I don’t trust any of the angels enough to groom them, and after what happened, they require it terribly. I would not ask if I had any other option, but they're quite uncomfortable, and I…” he trails off, rubbing his forefinger over his thumb nervously and looking down at his hand.

Dean freezes, shirt halfway down his chest, eyes widening. The pain in his chest subsides briefly as his thoughts race. He wants to jump on the offer, his fingers twitching at just the thought of touching Cas’s feathers. It’s just opportunity for more pain, though. Cas has made it clear he doesn’t think of Dean as anything more than a loyal human servant. Not even a friend, it seems. To be a part of as intimate an activity as wing grooming would be excruciating for Dean, with Cas giving him the cold shoulder afterwards.

But Dean is a glutton for punishment and he nods before he can even think otherwise. 

“Yeah, okay,” he blinks up at Cas. “I can, um….I can help with that. Master.”

Cas meets his eyes for a brief moment and nods, then licks his lips and heads back into the bedroom. When Dean follows a moment later, Cas is pulling on his slacks. 

“They're still quite dry where the oil has not been spread properly,” Cas says matter-of-factly, standing up straight, the pants hanging loosely off his sharp hip bones, “I think once they're oiled to completion, I may not need to concern myself with them as often.” He pauses, looking nervous. “Are you certain you do not mind?”

Dean rolls his shoulders, feeling tense and stiff despite the luxurious bath. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he lies easily, slowly and carefully filing away all emotions. It’s important to detach himself. He’ll get through this as painlessly as possible and then retreat to his room to lick his wounds in private.

He turns to Cas and quirks a brow. “Should we do this like last time? I can get on your back...unless you would like to sit up.”

Cas shrugs, walking over to the bed. “Either way is fine. Which would be easiest for you?”

Dean shrugs and begins rolling up his sleeves. “On your stomach, probably. I can reach things better that way. Less messy, too. The oil won’t run down as much.”

He waits as Cas positions himself and carefully climbs on top of him. He straddles Castiel’s thighs, ignoring the warmth seeping through his clothes, and begins inspecting the base of Cas’s wings.

“You still have smaller oil glands that haven’t opened up yet,” Dean says after a few minutes. “I’ll need to get those open, then we should have enough to get all of your wings. It’s going to take a lot. Almost all your feathers are bone dry. And your wings are huge, buddy.”

Cas grunts in response, shifting a little and turning his head to the side to look out his window. The storm has now dissipated and sunshine is trying to peek out from behind fluffy clouds.

“Do what you must,” he says finally, his words a little muffled by the downy comforter.

Dean nods and begins prodding his way around. The main oil gland that he opened before is still okay, the slit glistening with unused oil. He hums and moves on to a smaller one. Just like the other had been, this one is swollen and irritated. 

Dean starts the slow process of massaging it open, his mind blissfully blank for now. He pokes at the slit, swollen shut and completely dry. He squeezes and prods, not stopping until it finally begins to leak all over his fingers. Dean doesn’t waste time, moving onto the next one. 

Cas squeezes his eyes shut and groans at the pressure, but Dean feels him relax when the oil releases. He squirms a little at Dean’s slick hands sliding deftly over the glands and slightly over some of his feathers.

Dean methodically works his way through, until all six glands are open and leaking freely. He sits back with a small sigh, stretching and curling his slightly sore fingers. His hands are completely soaked and he absolutely did not think about what happened last time they were covered in oil.

“I’m starting in on the feathers now,” he says, shifting slightly on his knees. “I, uh...I’m new at this, so if I do something wrong just tell me.” Dean bites his lip in concentration and starts running his oil-slick hands over the feathers of an upper wing, shivering as they slide smoothly between his fingers.

Cas’s eyes fall closed again as Dean works his hands through his feathers easily. A moan slips past his lips and he presses his forehead into the mattress, rolling his hips against the bed.

Dean, to his credit, doesn’t falter in his ministrations. He swallows, hard, because that sound combined with that movement only means one thing. His cock twitches in interest, but Dean squashes any and all intimate thoughts. Going back to his empty room after this will be difficult enough. Adding in the confusing mess of sex will only make it ten times worse.

So Dean continues, thinking of anything besides the increasingly squirmy, aroused god between his legs. “Is this good?” he asks, halfway through the first wing.

Cas manages a muffled “yes” and brings his arms up to rest around his head, his fists clenched. 

Dean closes his eyes briefly, counts to ten, and takes a deep breath. His shifts again, his jeans starting to become tight. He tries to work quickly, but the feathers are in bad shape. He has to take his time. The good news is his attention is making a difference. The almost-finished wing is a glorious black, the sheen brilliant and mesmerizing. 

Once the first wing is finished, Dean presses his fingers to the main oil gland, drawing out more and slicking up his hands. It makes a slippery, wet sound and his ears burn. Dean clears his throat, starting on a mid wing. These are the bigger ones, with a lot more feathers—some of them as long as his leg. 

Meanwhile, Cas is moaning and rutting into the mattress, twisting the comforter in his hands.

Dean tries to ignore all of this. He does. But every moan has his dick throbbing and every time Cas thrusts down, Dean bucks on top of him. Finally, when he’s almost through the huge wing, Dean stops and sits back.

“Master…” he sighs. “Cas, should I...stop? You’re…” he gestures, vaguely, cheeks burning. He can’t bring himself to say ‘humping the mattress’ to the new God. Dean doesn’t have a lot of limits, but that is definitely one of them. “I don’t...want you to be uncomfortable.”

Cas has been biting his cheek to avoid actively panting, and he forces himself to unclench the sheets.

“Don’t,” he manages brokenly, his voice deep and rough, “ _ please _ .”

Dean rolls his neck and nods tensely. So, yep. They’re going to do this. And rip his heart out in the process. Fine. Just...awesome.

But, damn it, when Castiel says ‘please’ how do you say no?

Dean coaxes out more oil and gets back to work. His cock is swollen between his legs and he has to actively fight himself from grinding into Cas’s back. He’s shifting constantly, trying to alleviate the pressure and failing miserably. When he can, Dean subtly presses the heel of a hand on his cock, briefly, just to keep his sanity. By the time the third wing is nearing completion, the throbbing is bordering on painful.

And Cas is still half-thrusting into the mattress, deep moans coming in between breathless pants, his hands once again fisting into the comforter. Once again he reaches back to Dean, fingers pressing into his thigh, rolling his hips, a low moan deep in his chest.

Dean approaches the fourth wing with trembling hands. The oil’s scent is overwhelming now, it’s so thoroughly soaked into his skin. The grip on his thigh is burning, making the muscles twitch underneath. Dean’s work on this wing is sloppy at best, he’s getting the oil everywhere, missing some feathers completely then having to double back for them. His focus is quickly dwindling, because now all he can see and hear and feel is the creature writhing beneath him. 

In the moment that Dean leans forward to get to the shoulder of a wing, where two powerful joints meet, Cas thrusts. The movement presses Cas’s ass against Dean’s swollen dick and he gasps, hands involuntarily squeezing the hard muscle beneath the feathers.

Cas squirms urgently and lets out a long, muffled moan as Dean buries slick fingers into a wing. He ruts once more and stills under Dean, convulsing slightly with a grunt. The lighting in the room flickers in time with his orgasm and he gasps a breath, releasing Dean's thigh. 

Dean slowly, painfully, releases his grip on Castiel’s wing. His fingers throb and he realizes he’s been squeezing tight enough to have left a considerable bruise if Cas were human. He lets out a shaky breath and sits back, oiled hands resting on his lap. The muscles in his thigh twitch, as if missing Cas’s touch. 

After a few moments of collecting himself and adjusting the bulge between his legs, Dean resumes as if nothing happened. He’s quick, finishing the fifth and sixth wing without incident. Cas remains mostly boneless beneath him, staring out the window with an unreadable expression.

With exhausted fingers, Dean finally climbs off Cas and rolls next to him on the bed. He’s covered in oil, almost up to his elbows, splotches on his shirt and jeans. He closes his eyes, worn out, and momentarily forgets about his aching erection. 

Cas lays still for another moment before turning his head to face Dean, his expression calm and unashamed. He turns all the way, tucking his newly oiled wings to his back as he rolls back against them and crosses his hands over his stomach. 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, licking his lips. “I appreciate this.”

Dean nods wordlessly and stretches his fingers. This is the part he’d been dreading. The one he’d been trying to avoid, but he can’t deny Cas anything. Not only because Dean’s his servant, but just because he’s  _ Cas _ . 

He sits up, twisting slightly to crack his back. Kneeling in the same position, hunched over, did not do him any favors. “You’re welcome,” Dean finally says gruffly. He looks down at his hands and sighs. “I’ll just...wash up.” He stands stiffly, his knees cracking, and grimaces slightly at the pull on his groin.

“Dean… wait.”

Cas sits up, eyeing the oil on his hands. He tears his eyes away and looks up into Dean’s eyes, moving to the edge of the bed and throwing his legs over the side, gesturing for Dean to come over. 

When Dean reaches him Cas wraps long fingers around his wrists, holding them between their bodies and looking up at him. 

“I want you to use this,” Cas says gently, “like the last time.” He gives Dean a knowing look and nods. “Please.”

Dean’s eyes widen comically and he twitches nervously. “Uh, I-I don’t know what—”

He stops as Cas quirks a brow, eyes still gentle but firm. Dean’s caught and there’s little point in lying about it. How Cas knows, Dean has no idea. He chalks it up to Cas being God, and well...God knows everything.

“You’re...not angry?” Dean rasps out, licking his dry lips. He looks down at his hands, shiny and gleaming with Cas’s oil, and the thought has his head buzzing. 

“Not angry,” Cas confirms, shaking his head. “More...intrigued.” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip and lets go of Dean’s wrists, moving his hands to his own thighs. He cocks his head, looking up at Dean. “I imagine you look truly beautiful, using a part of me to bring yourself pleasure. I would very much like to see that.”

Dean blinks rapidly, shifting on his feet awkwardly. “I, uh...I really don’t think I look beautiful...doing  _ that _ ,” he coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. Then grimaces when he gets oil all over it. “But…” Dean looks down at Cas, his God, and imagines the strange creature beneath the skin. He swallows and nods jerkily. “If that’s what you want.”

Heart pounding, Dean settles himself down on the bed. He’s spread out on his back and hikes up a knee, spreading his legs just a little. Sighing, he pops open the button of his jeans and pull down the zipper. His cock springs free and he groans in relief, gripping the base and giving it a squeeze.

Cas moves to the bottom of the bed just below Dean’s legs and pulls a leg up on the bed with him, intently watching Dean’s every move. He reaches up and takes hold of Dean’s jeans, pulling them further down, the tips of his fingers brushing lightly against his overheated skin.

“Good, Dean,” he says quietly, eyes trained on Dean’s face. “Very good…”

That word, strangely, spurs Dean on. He huffs a breath, his hips twitching as he moves his slick hand in short strokes. With Cas so close, staring so intently, every hair on his body stands on end. Dean wants to put on a show, make it good, but he’s had this erection for what feel like the longest fucking hours of his life. He’s not physically capable of drawing this out.

“Master,” Dean whispers, eyes fluttering open and immediately landing on Cas. They stay there, his strokes quickening. “ _ Cas _ …”

Dean’s hand slides wetly over his engorged cock as he watches Cas with heavy-lidded eyes, his breath coming in small huffs. Cas leans forward again and places his hands on Dean’s shins, fingers splayed across the rough material of his jeans, gently rubbing, coaxing.

“I’m here, Dean,” he confirms, “that’s it… show me how badly you want to please your master.”

Dean groans and spreads his legs wider, now wishing he’d taken the time to completely rid himself of his jeans. It doesn’t matter, though. He isn’t going to last much longer. Not with Cas looking at him like that, that gravelly voice sending shivers down his spine. 

He thrusts into his hand, the wet sounds loud and obscene, which only make his cock throb even more. “Yes, yes, yes,” Dean whimpers, running his thumb over his leaking slit, creating even more of a slick mess on his hands. “Whatever you want, Master…”

Cas pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth and inches forward, his hands moving up from Dean’s shins to the inside of his knees, then to his thighs, fingers inching slowly across the skin. His eyes move with his hands, taking in every inch of Dean’s legs, tanned skin covered in coarse hair, thin but muscular, right down to the white scars here and there. Honestly, Cas is surprised there aren’t more. 

His eyes move up further, taking in the sharp curves of Dean’s hips and the muscles leading down to his pelvis; all a framework for the hand stroking his glorious cock, shiny with oil and precome. The hair at the base of his cock is also glistening now, and Cas’s eyes hover for another moment before slowly raking the rest of the way up Dean’s body and back to his eyes, his nostrils flaring.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, mostly to himself, sliding his hands over Dean’s thighs and squeezing slightly, his voice breathy with a realization. “You are... _ perfect _ , Dean.”

That’s all Dean needs.

He whimpers, choking back a loud groan, and tenses as he thrusts up. His hand squeezes his head and hot come spurts out in thick streams. It splatters across his stomach, his chest, a few drops landing on his chin. His balls tighten and Dean arches his back, the orgasm rolling through him, his cock twitching in his hand. 

Castiel’s name is a prayer on Dean’s lips as he finally comes down from the ecstasy, his body going limp on the bed. His legs fall, his grip loosens, and his eyes close. Dean is left panting and twitching pleasantly, the smell of Cas’s oil all over him.

Cas hums and draws his other leg up on the bed with him, shifting to his knees, and moves forward, surveying Dean’s blissed out state. 

“Look at me, Dean,” he says softly, and waits until Dean’s eyes are open and on him. Cas leans over him, gaze unwavering as he flattens his tongue and drags it through the mess on Dean’s belly. He closes his mouth again and his eyes follow as he hums in appreciation, then opens his eyes again and meets Dean’s.

“I was right,” he comments offhandedly, “beautiful. Quite beautiful, indeed.”

“Oh…” Dean breathes, mouth falling open as he struggles to comprehend what he’s just seen. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Cas, the angel that pulled him from hell, just licked come off Dean’s chest. Only in his dreams has Dean ever seen Cas do that. He licks his lips, wondering what it would be like to taste himself on Cas’s tongue. 

“I enjoy seeing you this way,” Cas continues, now watching as he trails his forefinger through the thick liquid, spreading it across Dean’s skin. “I like seeing how it makes you feel. How do you feel, Dean? Tell me.”

Dean watches, enraptured, as Cas actually plays with his come.  _ Jesus _ .

“I-good,” he swallows, nodding, running a hand absently over the comforter. “Really good, Cas. I think I needed that.” He licks his lips, skin twitching beneath Cas’s fingers. “Did that...please you?”

“Mmm...very much so,” Cas says, still busying himself with rubbing Dean’s come into his skin, enjoying the sheen it gives him. He finally sits back again and rests his hands on his thighs, cocking his head. “Have I made you uncomfortable in any way?”

“No,” Dean says quickly, scrambling to sit up. He reaches for Cas, but his hand falls seconds later, to fiddle in his lap. “No, I was comfortable. I…” Dean blushes and looks down. “I liked you watching me.”

Cas quirks a smile and licks his lips, then nods. 

“Good.” He sits back against one of the tall bannisters at the end of the bed. “I’m afraid I may have made a bit of a misjudgement, Dean. I think...I think more interaction would be good for me, as well as for you. If it’s okay...I would like to see more of you...like this.”

Dean’s head snaps up, eyes wide, and he opens his mouth. Then snaps it shut, only to open it once more. He’s doing an excellent impression of a fish and shakes his head to snap himself out of it.  

“Yes,” he manages to get out, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Yes, please, Cas...I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Cas inclines his head to the side, his hands resting limply in his lap. 

“Stand up and take your clothes off,” he commands gently, his expression softer. “Please. I need to see all of you.”

Dean nods and climbs off the bed as quickly as he can. The bed is huge and not exactly made for a fast getaway. 

Once on his feet, Dean divests himself of his shirt and jeans, kicking them away. He stands awkwardly for a moment then steps closer to Cas. 

Cas shifts to the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. He gestures for Dean to step closer and Dean obliges, moving to meet Cas's outstretched hands. 

Cas moves his hands from low on Dean's thighs up slowly, around to his backside, and up the planes of his back, his eyes following the movement. He pulls him gently. 

“Closer, please.”

Dean complies until he’s practically in Castiel’s lap and he reaches out to steady himself on Castiel’s shoulders. He shivers from the angel’s touch, his thumbs digging into Castiel’s flesh. It’s like touching hot steel, hard and unyielding. He bites his lip and crowds into Cas’s space until he really _ is  _ in his lap. Dean straddles Castiel, arms wrapped around Cas’s neck, and presses against him.

Cas moves his hands up to Dean’s neck and trails his fingers back down, across his broad shoulders and down his arms, coming to rest on his hips. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs again, sliding his hands down to the back of Dean’s thighs and pulling him somehow closer. He leans up and noses at Dean’s jaw, across his stubble and down his neck, then presses an innocent kiss to his collarbone, followed by another open-mouthed one, tasting the saltiness of sweat and Dean’s release on his tongue.

Dean sighs, relaxing in Castiel’s arms, letting his head fall back to give Cas more room to do whatever he wants. He feels loose and oddly free, giving Cas the control and simply enjoying the attention. 

Dean moves a hand up to Castiel’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark hair. They are as close as they can possibly be and it’s not enough for Dean. He tightens his legs around Cas’s waist and lowers his forehead, resting it on Cas’s shoulder. He breathes in the scent of storms, lightning and thunder, all raw and wild power. Dean groans and sucks it in greedily, wanting to soak in it.

Cas moves his hand to rest on the back of Dean’s neck, his other hand making its way back up his body slowly, memorizing every curve. 

“This...is it what you wanted, Dean?”

Dean nods, head fuzzy and body so limp he’s basically leaning on Cas. “Yes, Master…” he murmurs, pressing his lips against Cas’s hot skin. Touching Cas is like hovering his hand over an open fire. Knowing it could burn, but drawn to it anyway. 

Cas pulls back, his hands coming to rest on Dean’s neck as he looks up at him, his eyes searching his face, lips slightly parted.

“I will worship this body, so long as you worship me,” he says sternly, eyebrows drawn together, his thumbs rubbing softly over Dean’s skin.

Dean nods readily, tightening his grip on Cas, wanting that burn on every inch of skin he can get it on. He feels almost drugged, falling deeper and deeper, slipping willingly into Cas’s control.  His instincts are screaming at him to get away. To pull away from this dangerous creature that could devour him with ease, but Dean doesn’t even try. Because he wants it, craves it,  _ needs _ it.

Cas hums, the sound coming from deep in his chest. 

“The angels will not like it,” he says, ghosting fingers down Dean’s back, “but so long as you are obedient, there is nothing that can be said. You can be obedient, can’t you, pet?”

Dean swallows thickly and sucks in a breath, releasing it slowly. For reasons he’s choosing not to dissect, the word  _ pet _ has his dick twitching against Cas’s stomach. 

“Yes, Cas,” he whispers, then adds quickly, “Master. I’ll be good for you. Whatever you want...I just want to please you.”

Cas barely nods as he begins trailing his lips along Dean’s chest again, pressing open-mouthed kisses every few inches, sliding his hands down his back.

“I must get back to work,” he says finally, pulling away. He looks up at Dean sternly, one hand moving to hold his chin firmly. “I’m afraid I have to insist that from now on, you ask my permission before entering this room. What you witnessed is something that was never meant to be seen by anyone else...least of all, a human. Do you understand?”

Dean hangs his head and nods, somewhat ashamedly. “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry, Master…” He looks up through his eye lashes. He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth and lowers his voice. “You were... _ beautiful _ , Cas.” Dean looks hard into Castiel’s eyes and imagines he can see the trueform. Giant, alien, magnificent. He mourns, truly, that his limited senses stopped him from really seeing Cas. 

Cas doesn’t speak but smiles in acknowledgement, tapping the side of Dean’s thigh gently, and Dean moves to the side. Cas scrubs a hand over his face and stands, finally buckling his pants and moving over to the couch for his shirt, which he puts on as well, walking back over to the bed.

“You may use the bath, if you wish,” Cas says gently, buttoning the top button of his shirt and adjusting the collar. “When you are done, I’ll be in the throne room.”

Dean nods and smiles up at Cas. “Thank you, Master,” he murmurs then stands, reaching out to adjust Cas’s tie. “You always were bad at this,” Dean teases, making sure it’s straight before stepping away. “Do you need anything else from me before you go?”

“I’m fine, Dean, thank you,” Cas says, reaching up and running his thumb along Dean’s bottom lip. He hums, running his other hand through what’s left of the mess on Dean’s stomach. 

“You look incredible like this,” he repeats, leaning in closely, his breath hot against Dean’s lips. “I want more of this...want to see so much more...I want...want to  _ feel  _ something. Anything.”

Dean’s lips part, his tongue darting out to taste that thumb before he can stop himself. He wants to suck on it, so he does, drawing the digit into his mouth. He moans around it, running his tongue around the tip, greedy for the taste.

“I’ll show you everything,” Dean sighs, reluctantly letting the thumb go free.  _ You can do whatever you want to me.  _

Cas leans forward and presses a kiss to Dean's forehead, gently cradling the back of his head. He steps back again, throwing on his jacket. 

“Don't keep me waiting,” he says, before giving a glance back to the window and heading back out the door to the throne room. 

Dean nods and waits until Cas is gone to let out a long, slow exhale. He relaxes, rolling his shoulders, and looks down at himself. Naked, covered in his own mess. He’d been completely pliant for Cas, following every soft command without much thought. Dean waits for the inevitable panic from this knowledge, but nothing comes. 

He walks to the balcony and recalls vividly what he saw. The sky now is calm, fluffy clouds and blue skies. He can still smell the storm, though, and imagines he can feel the sting of rain and wind on his face. The heat rolling off Castiel, like fire, and Dean remembers the way he fell to his knees and reached for it. A stupid thing to do, any hunter would say, but Dean knows he would do it again. That strange feeling he gets when Cas is near, the way his mind muffles and his body leans in...Dean is addicted to him. He craves every piece that Castiel is willing to offer and takes it greedily. The thought should scare him, and he supposes it does a little.

But he made every sacrifice to be here, to be the only thing standing in Cas’s way while he doles out his wrath. Every day is a risk, one wrong word or move and Cas will end him. So why can’t Dean have his little prize? Besides, it serves his interests, too. A pleased, sated Castiel is a less vengeful one.

Dean turns from the window quickly and heads into the bathroom. Cas had told him not to keep him waiting, so Dean is fast with washing up. Once finished, he slips on his clothes, puts his hair in order, and walks out the door.

\----

“We've located the tracker, sir,” Netzach reports, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “They are apprehending him as we speak.”

Cas raps his knuckles against the armrest of the throne, nodding distractedly. 

“Yes, good. Have him brought to me as soon as he arrives.”

Netzach bows and leaves without another word. 

Castiel hears the shuffling behind his door before it opens and Dean emerges, and he perks in his seat a little, turning to watch him. 

Dean looks up when he feels Castiel’s eyes on him and his lips quirk in a little smirk. He stops at the base of the stairs, hands in his pockets. He glances at the chair still sitting off to the side, then back up at Cas.

Dean rubs his fingers over his stubble and raises a brow. He doesn’t want to make the assumption he’s allowed to join Cas up by his throne, but the desire to burns under his skin. 

“Where do you want me, Master?” he asks, looking at Castiel through his eyelashes as he bows his head.

“With me,” Cas says immediately, inclining his head, “by my side.”

The burn under his skin thrums as Dean ascends the stairs. He pauses at the top and doesn’t hesitate to sink down to his knees by Castiel’s feet. He leans up against Cas’s leg, arm looping around his calf, and head coming down to rest on his thigh.

Cas raises his brows but says nothing. He raises a hand, hesitating momentarily before burying his fingers in Dean's hair, pulling softly as he runs his fingers through. 

“You smell… pleasant,” Cas remarks randomly, his fingers moving slowly through his hair as he leans to to Dean's side of the throne, weirdly craving the closeness. 

Dean hums, eyes sliding shut in a blissful state. “I smell like you,” he says softly, fingers tugging absently at Cas’s pants leg. He’d used the last bit of oil on his arms while he washed, using it like soap and soaking it into his skin. Weird, when one sat down and really thought about it, but Dean rarely thinks too deeply about how he acts when it comes to Cas. 

Before Cas can say anything else the door swings open again and Cael enters with a skittish-looking Dumah by his side. She keeps her head down as they approach, and Dean feels Cas stiffen marginally. 

“My Lord,” Cael addresses, inclining his head, “We have urgent-” he looks up and his eyes fall on Dean, and he presses his lips into a thin line, clearing his throat and looking down. 

Cas narrows his eyes. “Well?”

Cael looks up slowly, eyes flicking back and forth between Dean and Cas. He opens his mouth and closes it again. 

“Sir, it's…” he clears his throat again, licking his lips nervously. 

Cas grows restless beside Dean, shifting in his seat. 

“It's the younger Winchester and the old man,” Dumah finally speaks irritably, raising her head and narrowing her eyes and Dean before quickly adding, “my Lord.” She moves her eyes to rest on Cas.

Dean’s eyes snap open and he tenses against Cas, hand tightening on his leg. “Sammy?” he asks, licking his lip and glancing up at Cas. “What is it?” He looks back at Dumah, narrowing his eyes into dangerous slits. “What’s wrong with Sam and Bobby?”

Dumah sneers at Dean and jerks her chin pointedly towards Castiel. “I only answer to one, and it’s not you, _ human _ .”

Dean growls low in his throat and the only reason he isn’t jumping up and drawing his angel blade is because Cas’s hand on his head tightens in warning.

“They…” Cael swallows, keeping his eyes trained on Castiel, “they captured Afriel while she was on earth searching for the tracker...for information. On Mr. Winchester’s whereabouts.”

Cas’s hand tightens a little more, then relaxes, and he resumes stroking Dean’s hair in comfort. “Where is Afriel now?”

“In the infirmary, sir.”

Cas nods and strokes Dean’s neck, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the nape. 

“When she is well, have her sent to me.” 

Both angels bow and turn to leave, the heavy door slamming shut behind them, and an uncomfortable silence stretches between Dean and Cas, even as Cas resumes the comforting stroking.

Dean is tense, white knuckling Cas’s ankle then abruptly lets it go when he realizes what he’s doing. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to calm and pull away from the knee jerk reaction of sticking a blade in any angel that tries to go near his brother. 

After a few minutes of slow, careful breathing, Dean finally looks up at Cas and swallows. He opens his mouth to speak, to beg Cas not to harm Sam or Bobby, but thinks better of it. He snaps his mouth shut and leans into Cas, his Master’s touch somehow grounding.

Cas gives him the opportunity to speak, but Dean remains quiet by his side, so Cas just continues to try to calm him, petting his hair gently.

“Your thoughts are loud,” Cas comments, slowing his pace, brushing a finger against the side of Dean’s cheek. “Talk to me.”

Dean’s jaw clenches and he huffs annoyance at himself. He’s got to learn how to think more...quietly. If such a thing is even possible. 

“You...won’t hurt them, will you, Master?” He chances it and looks up, stroking up and down Cas’s leg, looking as desperate but subservient as possible. “They don’t know that I’m…” He sighs. “I would do the same, were the situation reversed.”

Cas looks down at him then back up, staring straight ahead, drawing his hand back to the armrest.

“If they interfere…” he pauses, closing his eyes for a long moment, breathing deeply through his nose, “I will speak to Afriel...and go from there.” He opens his eyes finally, looking haggard. “I should have anticipated them looking for you, but it seemed too minute to worry myself with. However, if they’re taking my angels...I have to act. In some way.” He clenches his fist on the armrest, looking down at Dean. “What would you have me do?”

Dean scrambles for something, anything. No matter the faith he has in Cas, or how much loyalty he shows, he knows when it came to the moment of truth he wouldn’t sit back and let Cas do anything to harm Sam or Bobby. 

“Let me talk to them,” Dean, shifting to kneel in front of Castiel. He presses his forehead to a knee, both hands reaching up to squeeze his thighs. “Please, Master. Let me go see them, talk to them...prove to them I’m okay. I can make them stop. Tell them your plan is just, tell them how good you are…” Dean peeks up, biting his lip. 

Cas presses his lips into a hard line and gives him a sad smile, leaning forward and reaching out to cup Dean’s face with his hands, stroking his cheeks gently.

“Dean...it is too dangerous for me to let you leave,” he says quietly, his brows furrowing, “I wish things were different. But Raphael still has angels on earth, in hiding, and they know how important you are to me. I…” his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes sad, “I cannot risk…” he takes a deep breath, “losing you.”

Dean fights back tears, a confusing state of elation and dread overcoming him. He turns his head, nuzzling Cas’s palm, mind racing for a possible solution. One that didn’t jeopardize his elevated position here and also didn’t get his brother and adopted father killed.

“A message, then,” Dean says hopefully, working hard to keep his voice calm. “I can get them a message. If they hear from me, they’ll back off. At least, for a little while.”

Cas watches him for a long moment as he considers the alternative, and he finally nods.

“Very well. Yes, a message. I will send Cael to them...you may convey your message to him when he returns.” Cas runs his thumb along Dean’s bottom lip and drags his teeth across his own. “Is this solution acceptable to you?”

He nods gratefully, sliding his hands up Cas’s thighs. “Yes, Master. Thank you,” he says sincerely. “Your mercy is endless.”

“I find myself wanting to…  _ please _ you,” he says almost incredulously, cocking his head. “I enjoy the sound of your heart when you're happy, how your soul beams with it. It's fascinating. It's strangely… endearing.”

Dean shivers, pressing closer to Cas, spreading his thighs so he could slide Castiel’s leg in between them.

“ _ You _ make me happy,” Dean murmurs. “Serving you makes me happy. My Master...my  _ God _ …”

Cas groans and bites his lip, pressing his thumb to Dean’s tongue and slicking Dean's lips with his own saliva, his eyes widening slightly at the sight. 

“Perfect,” he murmurs, “I quite enjoy watching you serve me.”

He shifts his legs, pulling Dean gently between them and cradling his face with care, his fingers barely brushing against the stubble that trails down his neck. He breathes in deeply, letting Dean’s scent overwhelm his senses, and closes his eyes, humming softly.

Dean presses his cheek to the inside of Cas’s thigh. That weird, fuzzy feeling is taking over again. Castiel’s presence, his power, was all around him. Pressing and consuming, demanding obedience without a word, and Dean is sinking into it, slow and easy. It’s terrifying how easy it is. Almost instinctual. Like Dean is made for this.

Wanting something of Castiel inside him, Dean wraps his lips around Cas’s index finger. He presses his tongue against it, his teeth scraping gently. Dean blinks up at Cas lazily, a smile tugging on his lips.

Cas’s breath catches in his throat and he groans quietly, the sound vibrating in his chest. He reaches forward with his free hand and fists it into Dean’s hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat, his jaw clenched. He pushes the digit a little deeper, his mouth falling open as he watches Dean suck obediently.

“You are the definition of temptation,” Cas rumbles, sighing contentedly as he moves his finger over Dean’s tongue. “What am I going to do with you?”

_ Devour me. Surround me. Possess me. Mark me. Take me apart and put me back together. _

These thoughts rush through him, loud and jumbled, and Dean does nothing to hold them back. He wants Cas to hear, so he can know the full extent of his loyalty, his obsession, his love. 

Dean’s tongue plays with Cas’s finger, coaxing in another, getting them wet and slick. His fingers dig into Cas’s thighs, bunching up his slacks, as he presses closer. His neck muscles stretch, Cas’s hold bordering on painful, but he doesn’t fight it, the sting giving him a spark of pleasure.

Cas lets go of Dean’s hair and slides his hand down Dean’s neck and around to the front, taking hold of the neck of his shirt and grunting as he pulls Dean up to him, their faces inches apart. He pulls his fingers slowly out of Dean’s mouth and traces his lips again, pressing his tongue between his own lips as he watches.

“ _ Dean _ ,” he warns, but before he can say anything else, the doors open yet again and Dumah returns. Cas tears his gaze away from Dean and drops it to Dumah, who is watching slack-jawed but quickly lowers her eyes to the floor. Cas loosens his grip on Dean’s shirt and allows him to slide back into his original spot next to the throne, and Cas returns his hand to the top of his head.

He waits, and finally Dumah clears her throat and speaks.

“Baraqiel has been apprehended, Great One,” she says, her voice sounding braver than she currently looks. She looks up at him blankly. “Shall I bring him to you?”

Cas drums the fingers of his unengaged hand on the armrest of the throne, clicking his tongue.

“Later. For now, please have Cael see me. Tell him I would like for him to deliver a message to Sam Winchester, for Dean.”

“Sir, you have been anticipating Baraqiel’s capture for some time now. Don’t you think perhaps...that takes precedence? Over…” she gestures vaguely in Dean’s direction. “I mean no disrespect, my Lord. I only wish to serve as a gentle reminder of what you currently deem to be your priority.” She bows her head subserviently, clasping her hands behind her back.

Dean snorts before Cas can answer. “You never mean disrespect, but you seem to have a bad habit of showing it.”

Dumah snarls at him, snapping her head up and flashing cold eyes. “I don’t need lip from a concubine.”

Dean smirks down at her, though his anger boils just below the surface. “Is that what you think I am?”

“I know it,” Dumah shrugs, her smile cruel. “You’ve managed to distract him for now, but my Lord will tire of you quickly.”

“Distract him?” Dean says incredulously, glancing up at Cas. “You think my Master capable of being distracted? She’s insulted you, Cas…”

“Stop trying to poison his mind!” Dumah seethes, losing her composure and taking a threatening step forward.

Cas grabs a fistful of Dean's hair again at the same time as he holds up a hand, Dumah’s hair splaying out behind her as a powerful force stops her in her tracks. 

“ _ Enough of this _ . Both of you,” Castiel snarls, his voice low and authoritative. He glares are Dumah. “Leave us. Now.”

Dumah’s rigid stance falls as Cas releases her, and she opens her mouth to speak, but decides against it. She lowers her eyes to the floor and nods, taking a few steps backward before turning and exiting the room.

Cas’s grip relaxes in Dean’s hair, his hand lying flat on his head as he exhales heavily.

Dean shifts and looks down, feeling somewhat ashamed.“I’m sorry, Master,” he sighs. “I know I’ve disappointed you...but she…” He cracks his knuckles, his jaw clenching. “I don’t trust her, Cas.”

Cas lets go of Dean’s head completely and moves his hand to his armrest.

“Come, Dean.”

Dean pushes himself up from the floor and moves forward into Cas’s space, and Cas reaches out and pulls him into his lap once more, his hands coming to rest on his hips, underneath the hem of his shirt.

“Are you threatened by Dumah’s loyalty to me, Dean?” Cas asks, quirking a brow, his lips curling into a small smile. “Be honest. I will know if you are lying.”

Dean’s arms loop around Cas’s neck. He feels good, comfortable, right in Castiel’s lap. “Yes,” he huffs, playing with the hair on the nape of Cas’s neck. “Because it’s her loyalty that’s going to cause you trouble.”

Cas frowns, leaning back slightly. “How do you mean?”

A hand moves, sliding over Cas’s shoulder and down his chest. “She wants your attention and you won’t give it in the way she desires. Eventually she’ll let her feelings cloud her judgment and do something stupid. Something that might jeopardize your plans, may even hurt you. She’s not stable.”

“These are very astute observations, Dean. Also very dangerous assumptions.” Cas tongues the inside of his cheek, letting his head fall back against the throne. “But I think you may be mistaken. Angels do not have feelings as humans do. Dumah has no more feelings for me than I’m capable of having for her. She desires my attention only as her leader, nothing more. I desire for her to crave my attention, as with all the other angels.”

He reaches up and ghosts fingers down Dean’s cheek, down his chin, his neck, watching him closely.

“You worry for me.” It’s not a question. He watches intently for Dean’s response, cocking his head to the side.

A deep breath and a nod, Dean closing his eyes briefly. “Yes, Cas…” he speaks softly. “I worry. A lot.” It’s the truest thing he’s spoken since he got here. It feels good to say it out loud, even if encompasses much more than this Dumah situation. 

He knows he’s right about her. It’s simply a matter of waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’ll have to be ready when it happens, because he’s sure it will involve him getting hurt or dead. She wants him gone so she can move in to take his place. Dean tightens his legs, his arms, curling closer to Cas, thinking one word:

_ Mine. _

Cas frowns, then his face changes as he breaks into a smile, a real smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Are you jealous, pet?” He moves his hands to the back of Dean’s thighs, pulling him closer, until his pelvis is pressed directly against Cas’s stomach. Cas’s hands move up to his shoulder blades and slide down again. “Do you loathe the idea of me, as you so eloquently stated before, ‘bending her over this throne’...” he moves a hand to the armrest, trailing fingers down the stone, “and having my way with her? Does it... _ bother _ you?”

Dean can’t stop the growl, his fingers digging into Cas’s shoulders, just above where the wings meet. Jealous is an understatement. The feeling in his gut, it’s dark and twisted, coiling angrily as stark images of Cas and Dumah flash in his mind. 

This feeling is ugly and strong, and Dean can’t tamp it down. “Yes,” he hisses through his teeth. There’s no point in lying. “I carry your mark. I gave you my soul, to do with whatever you want. How quickly do you think she’d cut out her grace for you?”

Cas smirks, then licks his lips. “Dean...relax. I am not interested in Dumah for anything other than the work she does for me.” His hand finds its way to the back of Dean’s head, pulling him down, their noses touching. “I don’t want her. I don’t have a need for her. But you…” he continues, his other hand trailing along Dean’s side, giving him goosebumps, “you must show restraint. Do not let her bother you. She thrives on it. Let it die with you.”

Dean nods with a sigh. He’s only slightly relieved, knowing Dumah will snap eventually. Even if he lets it go, it won’t die with him. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

“I’ll try, Master,” he says. “For you.” 

He presses into Cas, his pelvis snug against his stomach. The warmth sinks through the denim of his jeans easily, Dean soaking it up with a small groan. 

“My jealous, vicious, perfect little pet,” Cas croons, his hands once again roaming Dean’s body, everywhere all at once. “No one else has this...can you not see that? I don’t allow this with anyone else. I don’t want them to  _ touch _ me. They are not worthy. They are not...righteous.”

Dean shivers, arching his back and neck to expose himself completely to Cas the only way he can while straddling his lap. “They even try it, I’ll kill ‘em,” he bites out, muscles in his arms twitching. 

He slides his hands over every inch of Cas he can get to, relishing the knowledge that only he can do this. That he is the only one to have ever touched Cas. While the angels scrape and bow at his feet, Dean sits privileged, up here with their God, straddling enough power to end the world and create it all over again. 

Cas chuckles darkly and presses his forehead to Dean’s chest, his hands sliding up to his neck, fingers splayed across the skin. He shifts, rocking his hips upward, pressing Dean still closer.

He pulls away again, all too soon, but slides his hands down to the hem of Dean’s shirt and pulls it up, over his head, and tosses it to the ground below him without another glance. He noses along the curve of Dean’s shoulder, his lips brushing the skin down Dean’s arm and back across his chest, nipping lightly where the tattoo adorns his left pectoral.

Dean buries his fingers into Castiel’s dark hair, wild and soft. He grinds down in response to the attention, heat quickly pooling to his groin. The throne room is cool, but his skin is flushed, his arousal rapidly growing.

Cael enters again, approaching the throne quickly, to his credit not even faltering at the sight of Dean straddling Cas’s lap. Cael clears his throat with his eyes cast downward, and Cas rolls his eyes slightly before pulling back and licking his lips, looking up at Dean then off to the side.

“I have a job for you, Cael.”

“Sir?”

Cas looks back up at Dean, his eyes going soft, speaking loudly to Cael as they have their own silent exchange.

“Dean needs to get a message to his family. I would like you to be the one to deliver the message.”

Dean sighs and reluctantly climbs down from Cas’s lap. There’s no way he can dictate a message with Cas so close. He can barely concentrate just being in the same room with him. 

“Paper and pen,” he grunts as he descends the stairs. 

“I can simply tell him what you want to say,” Cael says evenly. 

“I’m sure you could,” Dean says, coming to stand in front of him. “But Sammy won’t believe a word of it. So. Paper. And pen.” 

Cael’s brow twitches, but he nods and quickly produces the items. Dean clicks his tongue and walks off with them, settling down in his chair.

Cael is wise to keep his head down and eyes off of Dean while he waits, his hands clasped tightly behind him. Cas shifts in his seat and Cael glances up at him, then quickly away, focusing on the grooves in the floor.

“Cael.”

Cael’s head snaps up when Cas calls him, and Cas beckons for him to come to him. Cael hesitantly ascends the steps and stops at the top, kneeling with one knee on the stone. Dean doesn’t seem to be paying attention, but Cas leans in close anyway, speaking softly.

“You are not to bring harm to Sam or Bobby. You are to deliver the message and leave without so much as drawing your blade, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Cas sits back in his seat, looking down at Dean, who’s still busily writing. “I am sending you because I can trust you to do as you’re told. Do not inform anyone else of this mission. I do not want it to be derailed.”

Cael nods. “Of course, my Lord.”

Cas inclines his head in affirmation and Cael stands and bows, then quickly returns to his place at the bottom of the steps, waiting for Dean to finish.

Dean does his best to explain the situation, of course keeping his real plan to himself. He doesn’t trust Cael not to look, and he needs Cas to believe absolutely in his loyalty. So Dean swallows his pride and painstakingly explains how what Cas is doing is good in the long run. How he’ll make a better home for them, if they stand down and let it be. That he is now serving Castiel and helping to create this new world. Dean is hoping Sam or Bobby can read between the lines and understand. 

Towards the end, Dean brings up a memory. One only he and Sammy would know. When Sam had pneumonia and Dean sang ‘Hey Jude’ to him while their dad slept one off. That, along with a single drop of blood from a pricked finger (that he knows they will test), will hopefully convince them Dean is alive and well. 

“Okay,” Dean sighs and hands the finished letter to Cael. “It’s done.” 

Cael folds the letter in half and bows to Dean, then turns and leaves without another word. Cas’s arms rest on the arms of the throne, and he’s relaxed in the seat, slouching a little. When Dean looks up at him he extends a hand, his elbow still resting lazily on the armrest. 

“Rest assured that he will get them the message,” Cas assures him. Dean sinks to his knees by the throne, then sits on the floor, resting his head against the seat by Cas’s knee. Cas threads his fingers into his hair again, stroking gently.

“I’m...sorry things have to be this way,” Cas admits at the sound of Dean’s sigh. “I only aim to protect you.”

Dean nods and tries not to worry. He doesn’t trust any of these angels, but Cael is lesser of evils. He seems a typical soldier, built to obey whoever is in command. 

“Thank you,” Dean says sincerely. He recognizes Cas is going out of his way to please Dean, at the risk of angering his angels. It’s a step in the direction Dean was hoping for. 

Silence stretches between them as Cas continues his ministrations, then rests his hand in Dean's hair.

“Dean, you're aware that I don't see you as a… concubine, as Dumah so crudely suggested?” He slides his hand down the side of Dean's head, the back of Cas’s hand stroking his cheek lightly. “I don't want you to think that's what I... expect of you.”

Dean leans into the touch, unable to stop himself. He remains silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. The truth is he doesn’t know where he stands with Cas, who runs so hot and cold that Dean couldn’t keep up.

“So what am I?” Dean whispers, finally looking up at Cas. He licks his lips, chin resting on Cas’s knee. He stupidly hopes that he might see _ his _ Cas, the dorky angel who had to have Bert and Ernie explained to him and then still didn’t get it. This God-version of his angel cares, in some twisted way. He knows this, but in what capacity is still a mystery.

Cas presses his lips into a hard line and looks blankly ahead, unblinking. Finally his hand starts moving again, slow and calming. 

“I'm… not sure,” he admits, casting his eyes off to the side. “I'm...I...I don't enjoy being unsure of myself. But I don't have an answer for… whatever this is.”

Dean exhales softly and dips his head, closing his eyes. It’s more than he expected, at least. Good enough. It will keep him alive and in Cas’s favor, if he plays it right. 

All he can do now is be obedient, do everything in his power to keep Cas pleased, keep his eyes on him so others can survive. 

“Tell me what you want, then,” Dean finally says, looking up and placing a hand on Cas’s thigh. “What do expect from me, if you don’t know what I am to you. How do I worship you?” 

Cas closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 

“I don't know… exactly,” he says honestly, looking down at Dean. “At first it was a means to watch you… to keep you from plotting against me. After all, you know me better than anyone, I think.” He pauses, chewing his bottom lip. “But now...I'll admit, I'm having a difficult time deciphering what any of this means. I cannot explain…” Words fail him, and he sighs, a finger brushing lightly over Dean's cheek. “I can only tell you what pleases me or displeases me… as I said, black and white. And you, your obedience, your genuine concern for what happens to me… it pleases me. Very much.”

Dean lips twitch in a small smile and he allows himself a brief feeling of relief. It’s not exactly the friendship he once had with Cas, or the kind of relationship that went with the feelings he’d been harboring, but he can work with this. Obey and worship.

A powerful image: Cas, a raging storm, an alien figure staring back at him, magnificent wings spread wide to meet the lightning striking down. 

_ Obey and worship. _

May not be so difficult.

“Of course I care what happens to you,” Dean says with a sigh, grabbing Cas’s wrist and nuzzling into his palm. “I can’t...explain it either. I want to please you.. _.need _ to.”

Cas quirks a smile for a brief moment before his expression goes serious again. He clears his throat, pulling back his hand and clenching his fist.

“When the angels bring Baraqiel to me, I must insist that you leave. You may wait for me in my room, if you wish.”

Dean holds back a sigh. Hot and cold, with no warning in between.

“Yes, Master,” he says, tone light and careless. Dean taps a finger on his knee, the only indication of any agitation. Whatever Cas wants from this Baraqiel and Samael, he clearly does not want Dean knowing. He will have to be patient, bide his time, and hope he’s not too late when—or if—Cas decides to confide in him.

Cas raises an eyebrow. “You are...very good,” he says finally, resuming his petting, looking down at Dean then glancing back up at the door. “They will be here soon. Do you wish to stay in my room or go back to yours for the extent of my meeting?”

“I’d like to wait in your room,” Dean says, stretching his neck to look up at Cas. He blinks and smiles. “If that’s okay with you, Master.” He hates the idea of going back to his lonely room. “I never got a TV, anyway.”

Cas purses his lips but nods, holding his hand out to Dean and helping him to his feet, standing as well. He reaches down beside the throne and picks up Dean’s shirt, handing it to him with a sly smile.

“In case you wanted to put this back on,” he smirks, reaching forward with his other hand and brushing his fingertips across Dean’s nipple.

Dean jerks, biting back a gasp and snatching his shirt. He used it to cover up his nipples, protecting them from Cas’s sneaky fingers. 

He grumbles as he slips the shirt back on, smoothing it down just as a large group of angels burst through the doors, manhandling one in the middle that Dean can only guess was assume is Baraqiel. 

Without another word, feigning disinterest, Dean trots down the steps and quietly slips through Cas’s door, shutting it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Baraqiel is led inside by Zadkiel and Phanuel—both intimidatingly large angels—with his hands clasped in front of him, Enochian handcuffs dangling from his wrists. His clothes are slightly torn and old, certainly not items he was given to wear in Heaven, and Castiel can’t understand why an angel would willing choose clothing that looks as if several generations have worn it before him. Haniel, Netzach, and Dumah step ahead of them, approaching the bottom of the steps as Cas gives one last look over his shoulder at his bedroom door, then descends from his throne.

Baraqiel looks up, shaking his curly brown hair out of his eyes and off his shoulders, inclining his head slightly back with a smug look as Castiel approaches him. He smiles slightly, his young vessel’s right cheek dimpling, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. His soulful, light blue eyes sparkle as he regards Castiel with a chuckle.

“ _ Castiel, _ ” he drawls mockingly, “so you’re the new head honcho? Gotta say…” he shakes his head, pursing his lips in a teasing manner, “didn’t expect that. You always seemed so... _ docile _ .”

“Life is full of surprises,” Castiel growls as he approaches, then delivers a swift knee to Baraqiel’s abdomen.

Baraqiel doubles over coughing, then laughs as Zadkiel and Phanuel pull him back to his feet.

“Not one for good first impressions, are we?” Baraqiel teases, but his smile fades. “I know what you want from me, Castiel, and I’ve already told you...I was neutral in this fight. I didn’t answer to Raphael, and I don’t answer to you.”

Cas shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at the young angel. “Yes, well. There’s still time to change your mind. With Raphael gone, it only makes good sense—”

“No,” Baraqiel says sternly, jaw set. Castiel tenses, opening his mouth to speak, but Baraqiel continues.

“All my life, I have had to follow orders. I’ve been used for my abilities when I wasn’t even necessary, because I was there to be utilized. I was handcrafted by our Father to find people..that’s what I was  _ made _ for. And it wasn’t until Dad left and the Apocalypse loomed over our heads that I realized I was capable of so much more than that...that I could choose to do what made me happy.” He licks his lips, shaking his head. “I’m not going back to simply obeying orders. And I’m not choosing a side...forced or not. I just want to live in peace, brother.”

Castiel scowls, gripping the top of Baraqiel’s hair and pulling his head back, leaning within inches of his face.

“I’m not your brother,” he grinds out bitterly.

Baraqiel’s eyes bounce back and forth in his sockets as he looks up at Castiel sincerely, his jaw clenched forward. “No, you are not. Not anymore.”

Cas stares at him for a long moment before roughly releasing his hair, and taking a step back, his fists clenched at his sides. Baraqiel smirks again and Cas growls as he lands a hard punch on the right side of the angel’s face, his eye socket cracking under the force of the hit.

“Where is he?”

Baraqiel grunts in pain and the angels securing him let him fall to the floor, where he lands hard on his knees. Cas takes a step forward, hovering over him, his fist poised to strike him again.

“Why are you looking for Samael, anyway?” Baraqiel asks, his eye already beginning to bruise, face twitching as he looks up.

“It’s none of your concern,” Cas bites, focusing his power on the angel’s neck, squeezing tightly with his mind, a little smug as Baraqiel begins to choke under his gaze.

Baraqiel’s eyes widen as he raises his shackled hands to claw at his throat, forcing the words out of his mouth.

“I...don’t know...where he is...” he manages, sucking in what little air he could, “he...he-”

Cas groans in irritation and releases his hold, and the angel falls forward, barely catching himself, sucking in a breath and coughing.

“He what?”

Baraqiel pants and clears his throat, sitting back on his calves, knees spread on the hard floor. 

“He’s hidden.” He looks up guiltily. 

“I’ve noticed,” Cas scoffs, squatting down in front of him. “That’s why I need you to find him.”

“What do you need him for, huh?” Baraqiel spits angrily. “Him, specifically. Why? He’s just a reaper, only a means of transportation for those poor souls on Earth-” 

Cas’s face changes marginally and Baraqiel notices, cocking his head and humming.

“Ohhhh...so it  _ is _ the souls, then,” he clicks his tongue, poking his lips out and downward, nodding his head. “Knew there had to be something stronger than grace running through you. All this juice couldn’t have fallen from the sky.” He looks up at the never-ending ceiling and back down at Cas, laughing. Cas lands another punch before he can stop himself, and Baraqiel spits blood onto the floor before righting himself again.

“I demand that you find him.”

Baraqiel cocks his head, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I respectfully decline,  _ Great One _ .”

Cas pulls his blade from the inside of his jacket and slices, opening a glowing wound across Baraqiel’s chest, and he falls onto his back as Cas straightens.

“Get him up,” he motions to Zadkiel and Phanuel, and they nod and pull the young angel back to his feet as he pants and falls forward in their arms.

Cas steps forward and presses the end of the blade to the angel’s throat, forcing his head up and back.

“You will find him, or I will end you.”

Baraqiel stares at him for a long moment, his eye almost swollen shut now, but still staring intently at him, blood dripping down his chin from his busted lip. Even so he smiles, his teeth reddened with blood, and spits on the ground between them.

“Then kill me.”

\----

It turns out that Cas’s room is sound proof. 

Dean tried desperately to hear through the doors, the walls, even looked for a vent (stupid, yes, but he always explored every option), but nothing allowed him to overhear what was going on in the throne room. It was all silence, still, as if there was no one beyond the door. 

With frustrated reluctance, Dean gave up and collapsed into the bed. He’s now staring up at the ceiling, sky, whatever. Counting the minutes. Legs jiggling in impatience. Teeth grinding. 

Whatever Cas wants with these two angels is important. And Dean has a feeling it’s not good, either. Why else would Cas keep it from him? He knows Dean won’t agree with whatever he’s trying to do. Which means Dean has to stop it. 

He takes a deep breath and holds it, then slowly releases. He can’t be a jittery, nervous mess when Cas comes back. He has to be calm, uncaring...the perfect little pet waiting for his Master’s return with a smile. 

So Dean forces himself to calm and waits, moving to the balcony to watch the ever-changing weather. 

\----

It’s hours before Castiel finally enters the large and seemingly empty room. His nostrils flare as he considers the strength of Baraqiel’s resolve, using the towel provided to him by Haniel to wipe blood from his blade and toss it on the sofa. 

Hours of torture, and Baraqiel was unwavering. It would be admirable if there was a purpose behind it other than sheer bullheadedness. Admittedly, he’d left the stubborn angel a bit of a mess before commanding Zadkiel and Phanuel take him away to a cell.

He begins wiping his hands with the towel as he crosses from the sofa to the fireplace and stops to snaps his fingers, igniting it and watching as it roars to life. He gazes blankly at the flames as he tries to wipe the stubborn blood from his hands, looking down at his once-pristine white shirt now splotched with blood as well. Making an irritated sound in the back of his throat, he tosses the bloody towel onto the sofa along with the blade and begins to unbutton the shirt, turning and looking up in just enough time to see Dean come in from the far balcony.

Dean falters for only a second, the sight of blood not as surprising as the sheer amount of it. He frowns and quickly walks over to Cas, clicking his tongue and batting Cas’s hands away. 

“This isn't yours is it?” Dean sighs, knowing that nothing out there can hurt Castiel but unable to stop himself from worrying, anyway. 

He gets the blood-soaked shirt and tie off, tossing them off to the side with a grimace. 

“No,” Cas grits out through clenched teeth, sighing and rolling his eyes up to the never-ending ceiling. “Not mine.”

“Good,” Dean nods and eyes Cas’s pants. They’re covered as well. He raises a brow. “Would you like me to take those off, too? I think you’ve ruined every piece of clothing you have. Couldn’t have been a bit less messy?” 

“No,” Cas repeats, harsher this time, but he allows Dean to start unbuttoning his pants, staring out his favorite window. But it doesn’t do much to help his mood this time. 

“Okay, grumpy,” Dean snorts, patting Cas’s leg as he kneels down. Cas lifts his legs silently and Dean quickly slides the pants off and tosses them on top of the rest of the bloody clothes. 

“Don’t be impatient,” Dean says gently, looking up from his kneeling position. “He’ll only take advantage of it. If you take your time, he’ll crack eventually.” 

“I don’t have  _ time _ ,” Cas growls, looking down at Dean, his eyes burning. “So much has already been wasted searching for him. I need him to do his job  _ now _ .”

Dean bites his lip and hesitantly reaches out, laying his hand flat on Cas’s thigh and rubbing gently. “You could let me try, Master…” he blinks up at him. “I was in hell, after all. I know a thing or two about torture.” 

“Our methods are very similar,” Cas remarks bitterly, his nostrils flaring as he looks back out the window, “I doubt you would have much more of an effect.”

“But you shouldn’t have to waste your valuable time on him,” Dean says carefully. “You have more important things to do than torture some angel. I can do it for you. And when he finally cracks, you can get whatever you need out of him…” He pauses, leaning closer, pressing a kiss to Cas’s thigh. “Let me do the dirty work, Master, then you can reap the benefits.”

Cas raises a brow, looking down at him. 

“So you would stay here and wear him down, while I continue my work on Earth? The politicians, priests...through all of that?”

Dean bites back a frustrated sigh and nods solemnly. He knows he’ll have to step away from the missions if he’s going to get any kind of info on Samael. It means more lives lost, but Dean has to take that risk. If Cas is this desperate for whatever ability Samael has, then it can only be bad news. 

“Yes, Master…” he squeezes the thick thigh and sighs sadly. “I’ll stay here so you can continue your work. If that….pleases you.” 

Cas considers it briefly, chewing his bottom lip, and finally nods. He reaches a hand out to thread into the top of Dean’s hair, letting out a calming breath.

“Okay. Yes, if you are willing...I would like it very much. I...trust you to do that for me.”

Dean leans into the touch and smiles winningly up at Cas. His heart flutters, stupidly happy that Cas trusts him. And his chest tightens from the guilt that he is, in a sense, betraying that trust. 

“Is there anything I can do for you now, Cas?” He asks, sliding his hand down to lightly stroke Cas’s leg, gently massaging the calf. “You’re so tense.” 

Despite all his efforts to relax his muscles, Cas  remains rigid, anger still coursing through him. He finds it difficult now to reign in his anger, and the more he gives in to it, the easier it is to get lost in it. And Baraqiel… he has a unique way of getting under Cas's skin. 

“I don't know,” he says honestly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to breathe deeply, but even so, his hand tightens in Dean's hair. Dean winces slightly at the pull, a little rougher than he's used to with Cas. “I can't...I just…” he trails off, sighing deeply, “ I need to relax.”

Dean’s neck stretches as he tries to alleviate some of the pain on his scalp, blinking up at Cas. “I can help you relax, Master,” he whispers, sliding his hands up to Cas’s sharp hips. He rubs at the dip between the hip bone and the groin and licks his lips.  He glances, quickly, at the flaccid cock hanging just inches from his face. His tongue darts out again, his eyes dragging back up to meet Cas’s gaze. “I can make you feel good.”

Cas fixes his eyes on him, his forehead creased with anger. 

“I'm not sure you can,” he says blandly, stroking Dean's hair. 

Dean’s jaw twitches, but he keeps his smile and inches closer to Cas. Despite the tight hold on his hair, he manages to press his face into the pelvis in front of him. Heart hammering into his sternum, feeling small and weak under that angry gaze, Dean mouths at the trail of hair just below Cas’s belly button. It’s like licking fire, all power and burning rage, which at the moment is all focused on him. Exhilarating and terrifying, he’s the stupid moth who keeps flying towards it.

“I think you underestimate me,” Dean murmurs into Cas’s skin, his tongue trailing over coarse hair. His eyes flutter as he looks up, hands sliding over the back of Cas’s thighs, splayed across the thick muscle. 

“Never,” Cas mutters as he watches Dean, lips parted, one eyebrow quirked. “I know everything about you: what makes you tick, what brings you joy, your strengths and weaknesses. I could never  _ underestimate _ you. Sometimes I just have a difficult time understanding you.”

He pushes his hips forward, flexing the hand in Dean's hair, reveling in his proximity to him.  

Dean hums and nips at the skin of Cas’s hip, digging his nails in, just barely. “Well, let me make myself very clear then,” he smirks, tongue coming out to wet his lips and tease a hip bone. “I’m going to put this  _ gorgeous, thick  _ cock in my mouth,” Dean husks out, nipping at the base of said cock. “And I’m going to choke on it until you come, and then I’m going to drink up every last drop of you.”

Cas’s hand freezes in his hair and he sucks in a breath, gripping Dean’s short hair and pulling his head back to expose his neck. Their eyes meet and Cas swallows hard, frowning.

“Dean, I don’t...I’m not sure if it would help, what you’re suggesting.” He licks his lips nervously.

“Oh, it’ll help.” Dean grins, then opens his mouth wide as he drags his tongue down the length of Cas’s shaft. Despite Cas’s doubt, he is starting to swell under Dean’s attention. 

“Nothing like fucking a hot mouth to relieve some tension,” Dean hums as he sucks gently at the head. 

Cas grunts and pulls at Dean’s hair again. “Dean, I don’t know if...it’s not…” he trails off, groaning softly. “You’re human, and I’m—” he lets his tongue rest at the back of his teeth, looking somewhat conflicted, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, again. 

“Please,” Dean breathes, nuzzling the side of Castiel’s hardening cock. “You’re so.. _.beautiful _ . I want to make you feel good. I want…” He shivers and sucks briefly at the base. “I want to  _ worship  _ you, feel you...take control.” Dean licks his lips, glancing up, catching Cas’s eyes. “I want you down my throat. I want to taste you…”

He moans, dragging his eyes back down to the cock nudging his cheek. “I want your cock stretching my mouth, your divine seed sliding down, Master...I’ll swallow all of it, until I’m so full I can’t take anymore. I want you inside, whatever you’ll give me. It will feel so good, Cas...I’ll be tight and hot around you…”  Dean opens his mouth and hovers over Castiel’s head, his tongue teasing the tip, eyes looking up and begging.

Cas flexes his hand in Dean’s hair, massaging his scalp, the filthy words spilling from his mouth causing Cas’s eyes to widen and a moan to bubble from his chest. He meets Dean’s eyes and he leans forward, pressing himself deeper into Dean’s mouth with a sharp intake of breath.

Dean groans, wrapping his lips around Castiel properly and hollowing his cheeks. He inhales, sharp and quick, through his nose as he bobs his head once, then twice. Each time getting just a little more inside. 

He pulls off to take a real breath and grips the base of Cas’s cock, squeezing gently. Dropping his jaw, Dean takes him back in, sinking slowly, feeling every inch slide across his tongue.

Cas watches him with lidded eyes and his lips parted, sliding his hand to the back of Dean’s head and thrusting experimentally into his mouth. He moans as Dean takes him deeper, his hand falling to his neck and squeezing, fingernails biting into the muscle.

Dean hisses at the sting, teeth lightly grazing along the thick vein running up the shaft. His throat convulses, swallowing around the thickness, as Cas pushes deeper. Cas is bigger than he’d anticipated, but he can take it. He wants it, even as he struggles to breathe, he wants more. 

Dean works his way down, slowly, until Cas’s dark curls tickle his nose. It feels...really fucking full. He sucks in oxygen through his nose and blinks up at his Master, swallowing around the head poking at his throat.

Cas rolls his hips again, then again, pushing himself as deep as he can. His hands move to cradle Dean’s face, fingertips brushing his jaw on either side. He moves his thumbs up to the corners of Dean’s mouth and traces where his lips stretch around him.

Dean shifts on his knees, the hard floor starting to hurt, and reaches under to cup Cas’s balls. They feel heavy, full, and Dean can’t wait to get what’s inside down his throat. He starts bobbing his head, first slow, then earnestly, deep and long. 

He moans around it, teasing the leaking slit as he pulls off then dragging his teeth as he sinks back down. His hands grip Cas’s thighs tightly, digging in, pulling him towards his mouth. 

Dean moves faster now, harder, panting through his nose with short puffs of air. He doesn’t take his eyes off Cas, watching him slowly come undone, and getting a secret thrill from it. He has this powerful creature falling apart for him and Dean is only using his mouth. 

_ Master. _

He pushes the thought out, full of reverence and praise.

_ Castiel. Use me. Fill me up.  _

Cas groans and pushes himself deep, hitting the back of Dean’s throat as he comes, his hands resting on the back of his head, holding him in place. Dean couldn’t have pulled away from the onslaught even if he had wanted to. Cas’s grip is steel, fingers pulling harshly at his hair, as thick come shoots down his throat. Dean swallows it hungrily, moaning around the taste, the feel of it. It’s hot, almost burning, and he can feel it all the way down. And it keeps coming, leaving him no time or room to roll it around on his tongue. It’s all he can do to not choke, throat convulsing to keep up with the flood.

Cas groans as the last spurt shoots down Dean’s throat, then pulls out with a sigh, his cock still hard and slick with spit and come. He immediately runs a thumb across Dean’s swollen lips, his own tongue poking out slightly from between his teeth. 

“ _ Dean… _ ” he barely whispers, with no real reason behind it other than needing to hear it.

“ _ Castiel, _ ” Dean answers, voice raw from the abuse on his throat. He licks his lips, red and swollen, with the faint taste of Cas still on them. He eyes his dick, still hard and ready, and smirks. 

“Shoulda figured God can keep it up,” he chuckles, leaning forward to nip at the thick shaft. His throat burns with every word he speaks and he loves it. Dean glances down and realizes he’s come all over himself, a mess all over the front of his jeans.

Cas reaches down and grabs fistfuls of Dean’s shirt, hauling him to his feet. Pulling him in with a hand on his neck, Cas buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck on the other side, nosing at the skin there. He grazes his teeth along his jaw, groaning softly.

“ _ More _ ,” he commands, pulling away to look Dean in his eyes, “please.”

Dean nods and grabs Cas’s hand, tugging him towards the bed. He pushes at Castiel’s shoulders and is pleased when he complies, falling onto his back with his wings spread on either side. 

Dean strips himself of his clothes and they fall away, forgotten. He climbs on top of Cas, settling on his thighs, that hard cock sliding between his cheeks. He trembles, bracing himself with his hands on Cas’s chest, looking down at him with utter devotion. 

“How do you want me?” Dean whispers, rolling his hips. 

Cas watches him intently, opening his mouth to speak but closing it again, barely shaking his head. It’s new territory and until now, nothing he ever gave thought to, but now he wants it all, everything Dean can give him...and he doesn’t know how to tell him any of that.

Instead he grips Dean’s thighs, splays his fingers across them and squeezes, moves them up to Dean’s lower back and down to his ass, squeezing and pulling. All he knows is that he wants  _ more, more, more _ … wants to be worshipped by his beautiful pet, and worship him in return.

Lips parted slightly, Dean moves on top of Cas. He gyrates his hips, sliding his ass along Castiel’s length in slow, teasing motions. He smirks, tongue poking out, and runs a finger over a long, beautiful feather. 

“Mm, that’s okay, I know what you want,” Dean digs his fingers into Cas’s wing, shivering as the feathers slide over his skin. Sharp and silky, buzzing with power. “I’ll take care of you, Master.”

Dean reaches under a wing, finding the oil gland, and prods the small opening. He’s rewarded with smooth, fragrant oil and pulls away when his fingers are soaked. He lifts his hips and reaches around, sliding a slicked finger down a cheek and circling his opening. He sighs, forcing himself to relax, then gently slips the tip of his finger inside, the oil smoothing the way.

Cas licks his lips nervously, breathing deeply and watching Dean’s every movement. Cas reaches behind him, too, his hand joining Dean’s, and his mouth falls open when he feels Dean’s finger sliding in and out of himself. Tentatively, he reaches out with his other hand and wraps it around Dean’s shaft, stroking slowly as he looks up at him.

Dean smiles down at Cas, jerking into his touch and biting his lip to keep from moaning wantonly. He grinds down on his own finger, shivering when he feels Cas probing down there as well, an adorably curious look on his face. He almost looks like the old Cas again.

Dean sighs and adds a second finger, scissoring himself. The oil is...amazing. Better than any lube he’s ever used. The smell is intoxicating, making his brain fuzzy and high. “‘m gonna fuck myself on you,” he murmurs, head rolling back. “Gonna ride that fat cock. I’ll do all the work, Master...you just enjoy. Relax…”

Cas growls and thrusts up impatiently, arching his back off the bed. Dean uses his free hand to push on Cas’s hips, silently asking him to wait, though secretly pleased Castiel wants him so badly. He adds a third finger and stretches his hole, thrusting in and out. However, Castiel’s impatience is infectious, and Dean quickly decides he’s had enough prep.

Withdrawing his fingers, Dean lifts his hips and grabs the base of Cas’s hard cock. He slicks it with more of Cas’s oil and gives it little squeeze, licks his lips, thighs trembling as he begins to lower himself. He’s having a hard time remembering the last time he did this. Years, probably. Realistically, he certainly needs more prep, but he also knows Castiel won’t wait much longer. 

When that swollen head breaches him, Dean groans and pauses, panting heavily. Cas is so damn  _ big _ . It will be a miracle if Dean walks away from this. Likely he’ll he hobbling. 

Cas’s mouth falls open as Dean slides slowly down onto his cock . He moves his hands to grip Dean’s thighs, fingers pressed hard against the skin. The sound he lets out is a mixture of a moan and a whine, coming from deep inside his chest and rumbling through him. He pushes his hips up slowly, sheathing himself deeply inside Dean, his tight hole stretching around him and taking him in. 

Dean groans when Cas bottoms out, his whole body shaking, hole twitching around the girth stretching it. He’s never felt so full, no one has ever been so deep inside him. He pants, rolling his hips just barely, hissing at the burn. The heat coming from Castiel is amazing, seeping into him, making him pulse with need. 

Miraculously, Cas gives him time to adjust. Dean takes advantage, moving his hips in circular motions, moaning every time Cas’s head brushes against his spot. If Cas even just barely thrusts he’ll hit it, too big to miss it. 

Finally, Dean lifts his hips just a little then drops back down. He huffs with the effort, groaning softly. 

Cas grunts and pulls Dean down on his cock, running his hands up his sides and across his chest. They brush over his hardened nipples and back down his stomach, one falling to stroke Dean’s leaking cock. Cas watches him in awe as he moves, and his hands slide to Dean’s thighs again. He moans as Dean pushes down onto his cock, grinding his hips.

“Beautiful,  _ righteous man, _ ” Cas whispers, squeezing just above his knees. “You are so good...know just how to please your master. Show me how you  _ worship _ me, Dean...”

Dean chokes back a sob, head thrown back, and lifts himself up only to slam back down. He starts a deep, hard pace, but keeps it slow. To feel the drag of Cas’s cock, to nudge that head in just the right spot, to enjoy every second. Because he’s realizing, suddenly, that Castiel is inside him. The angel he’s loved since...well, probably since he was pulled from hell, is finally with him in the way Dean only dreamed about. He’s wanted for this so long and now that it’s here, Dean’s emotions are threatening to boil over. 

He shudders at Cas’s words, squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from leaking, and leans forward. His hands find purchase on the thick meat and bone of Castiel’s main pair of wings, fingers digging in roughly as he moves slow and deep on top of him. 

“Master,” he whimpers, staring down at the beautiful creature below him. “You feel so good...so perfect. I want you inside...always, I want to make you feel good all the time.” He breathes roughly, thighs burning. “I’ll worship you like this every day. Every night. Pleasure you, love you, please you in every way.” 

Cas growls in response, pulling Dean down to him, one hand gripping the nape of his neck and the other wrapped tightly around his torso. Cas plants his feet on the bed and thrusts up, hard and deep, burying his face in Dean's neck. Dean gasps, back arching, every thrust pounding against his prostate perfectly. His cock is trapped between them, throbbing and untouched, leaking profusely. He’s so full, so stretched, and all he can do is hang on as Cas thrusts into him. He pulls at the wings, fingers threaded deep into the feathers, raking through them with each hard thrust. 

“Cas..” Dean moans, slamming himself down, crying out when Cas hits deep. “ _ Cascascascas _ !” Hes so close, throbbing so much it hurts, and he knows he won’t need to be touched. He’s going to come on Cas’s cock alone and Dean groans at the thought of it. 

Cas holds Dean down hard on his cock as he comes deep inside him, then pumps into him over and over, thoroughly fucking into him through his own orgasm. Each thrust pumps Dean with more come, filling him up, surrounding Cas’s cock and lessening the resistance around it, making a wet and obscene sound as Cas pulls out and thrusts back in again. He groans through it, dragging his teeth across Dean’s shoulder, both his arms wrapped under Dean’s and over his shoulder blades, to grip Dean’s shoulders, pulling him down hard on Cas,s cock.

Dean’s cock is kicking between them, spilling over both of their stomachs, but he hardly notices. All he can feel is Castiel, the teeth on his skin, the cock still pounding into his hole, the hot come filling and filling him with an impossible volume. Cas’s name is broken syllables on his tongue, praises tumbling out with no filter, loud moans in between. 

Dean’s thighs give out and he drops all his weight onto Cas, arms wrapping tightly around him, as his God continues to pump his seed inside. Dean buries his face into Cas’s neck, panting heavily, the mess he made smearing between them. 

Cas growls and sits up on the edge of the bed, grabbing Dean’s hips roughly and moving him up and down his cock again, licking his lips as he looks down at Dean’s come splattered across his stomach and chest. Dean’s practically boneless but tries to comply anyway, moaning loudly and holding tightly to Cas’s arms.

Cas moves again, this time to switch their positions, throwing Dean onto his back on the bed and pushing into him again, forcing his legs wide. Dean puts up no fight, arching off the bed with a weak moan, sweat glistening on his skin. Cas pounds into him, leaning heavily on the bed around him, the sound of skin slapping as his thighs meet Dean’s ass. He groans as he shoots more come into Dean, pushing himself deep when his cock twitches with it. 

Cas slows to a gentle rhythm, his hips moving marginally as his chest heaves. He pulls out and moves them to the edge of the bed and stands, then slides back inside.

“My pretty little pet,” Cas coos softly, reaching between them to gather some of Dean’s come on his thumb and reaching up to push it between Dean’s lips, onto his tongue,  smearing it along his bottom lip. Dean laps it up quickly, catching every drop and swallowing. Cas’s eyes are lidded and his own mouth hangs open as he watches in awe, his tongue running over his own lip. “I love seeing you make a mess of yourself. I can’t wait until you’re covered in me...I bet you’ll look beautiful that way…”

He runs his hands down Dean’s torso and up his thighs and Dean moans beneath him, weakly thrusting up, still wanting more even when his body is spent. 

“It pleases me to be inside of you...to fill you, in every sense of the word. I want to keep a part of me inside you, even when I can’t be with you like this. Would you like that, Dean? To carry a piece of your master with you wherever you go, so you can never forget who you belong to?”

Dean nods, mouth hanging open, licking his lips hungrily. “Yes, Master,” he pants, shivering beneath Cas. “I need to feel you, please, I need you inside, Castiel.” He moans, his ass clenching to keep every drop of come inside. He’s too full, though. Cas has pumped so much inside he can feel it. He’s so wet, slick, and he flushes when some manages to leak out. He’s sloppy with it but still wants more. 

Cas pulls back, letting his cock slip all the way out and watching as Dean’s stretched hole clenches around nothing. Cas’s cock is slick with his own spend and he wraps his hand around the base, rubbing the head against Dean’s fluttering hole, spreading the come that’s leaking out all around his rim. He sighs softly and bites his bottom lip, his eyes flitting up to watch Dean’s face.

“I could watch you like this all day,” he whispers, using his free hand to push Dean’s thigh up again, giving himself a better view.

Dean twitches under Cas’s gaze, his hole fluttering, and he blushes furiously. He’s never felt so exposed, so fucked out. His legs feel like lead, limp in Cas’s grip. Despite his embarrassment, he doesn’t try to cover himself. His body isn’t his anymore. It belongs to Castiel, who can use it however he sees fit.

“I’m yours,” Dean sighs, moving his free leg to the side, stretching out further for Cas. The movement causes more come to gush out of him and he grimaces at the strange feeling, his hole clenching. “If you want me like this all day, then I’ll do it. I like your eyes on me…”

Cas rubs his hands down Dean’s thighs and drags his gaze away from his leaking hole back up to his face, licking his lips quickly. 

“Dean,” he started slowly, cocking his head, “when we spoke earlier, about what we wanted from each other...was this...what you wanted?”

Dean digs his fingers into the sheets of the bed and closes his eyes, huffing out a breath. He’s in no state to have any kind of conversation, let alone one that potentially involves _ feelings _ . 

It’s not as if he can tell Cas the truth. That what he really wants he can never get. That what he wants is Cas, just Cas. Grumpy, squinty, trench coat wearing, backwards tie Castiel. On hunts, in crappy motel rooms, under the stars when they can’t find one, in Baby’s backseat on the side of the road because they just can’t keep their hands off each other anymore. He wants Cas by his side, a companion, a partner. He wants Cas to love him like Dean loves Cas.

Dean doesn’t say this, though. He looks up at Cas and swallows thickly. “I want…this, yes,” he says softly. “But I also want to be good for you. I want to do…to be what you need. I want to be by your side. Worship you, love you…”

Cas stares at him for a long moment, but he finally nods and looks down at Dean’s stomach, trailing a finger absently through the mess and up his chest, circling a nipple.

“You are... _ very _ good for me,” Cas confirms, quirking a smile. He moves his hands back to Dean’s thighs and spreads them apart, biting his lip as he lines himself up again and pushes inside, sighing as he bottoms out. Dean’s so slick that there’s almost no resistance, and he groans, letting his head falls back onto the bed. He welcomes Cas back inside, hugging him tightly, fluttering and twitching around his cock. His legs wrap around Cas’s waist and pull him closer, sighing in contentment.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, eyes sliding shut. His own cock twitches with effort, but Dean is human and can’t keep up with Castiel’s libido. He doesn’t mind, far from it. Dean is happy being Cas’s pet, the one he comes to when he wants to touch and feel and taste. 

Cas grips Dean’s hips and pulls him closer, rolling his hips and groaning, eyes closing and head falling back. He flexes his hands on Dean’s waist and holds tightly as he sets a hard rhythm, throwing his full body behind each thrust, skin slapping loudly in the large room.

“So perfect for me,” Cas murmurs, opening his eyes and looking down at Dean, eyes on fire. He leans forward, moving his hands up to Dean’s neck, ghosting his fingers down his neck. “You feel so good, Dean...so good for me…”

Dean reaches up, grabbing Cas’s arm and sliding his hand down the muscles underneath tan skin. When he reaches Cas’s hand, he brings it to his mouth and immediately sucks in two fingers. He needs Cas inside every damn hole he can fill.

Dean’s body rocks with Cas’s movements, his hips moving weakly to meet each thrust. He stares, eyes wide, at the creature pounding into him.Wings spread, casting shadows over Dean’s body, feathers ruffled and twitching. And those eyes...penetrating, seeing right into his soul, glowing with power. Power that could rip Dean apart or set him afire with pleasure. He doesn’t even care which, as long as he gets to feel it coursing through him. 

Cas pushes his fingers deeper into Dean’s mouth then pulls them out, reaching between their bodies and gripping Dean’s softened cock, giving it an experimental tug. He grins mischievously as grace lights his eyes and surges from his fingertips, bringing Dean back to hardness. Dean gasps, each touch almost too much for his red and oversensitive cock to handle.

Cas strokes Dean in time with his own thrusts, pounding into him roughly; Dean’s hole is constantly leaking come around Cas’s cock, making a wet sound. At this rate, Dean will surely be sore the next day and he can’t even find it in himself to care.

“Such a greedy little pet,” Cas breathes, gathering some of the come from Dean’s hole and using it to slick up his cock. “Do you think you can come for your master again?”

Dean writhes on the bed, the sensations on his cock and hole almost too much. He fights to pull away, but is dragged back under by his insatiable need for Cas. To obey and please his Master.

“Y-yes,” he chokes out, thrusting up into Cas’s hand. He hisses and jerks, his cock twitching as grace continues to pour into him. It’s a strange feeling: tingly and warm, foreign, worming its way through his system, prickling under his skin. 

Cas hums, pulling back again to grip Dean’s thighs and fuck hard into him, biting his own lip.

“How would you like your master to come, Dean?”

Dean huffs, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t possibly decide. He wants it everywhere. His mouth and down his throat, so he can taste and swallow that glorious seed. Or deep inside his hole, overflowing and filling him while Dean milks his dick. Or maybe all over his chest and stomach, so he can bathe in it and smell like Cas, and every angel and demon out there would know who he belongs to.

“I…” Dean licks his lips and grinds back onto Cas, his rim burning with overuse. “Master, please, I can’t...decide. It’s all so good. I want you everywhere.”

Cas groans and adjusts his hips, pressing his cock upward to assault Dean’s prostate. His hands move to run over Dean’s torso, touching everywhere, not able to get enough of Dean’s warm skin under his fingers.

“Beautiful boy…” he hisses, hips stuttering as he pours himself into Dean again, pumping him full and pressing upward hard into that little bundle of nerves. He grunts as he hovers over Dean, his weigh supported by his fists pressed into the comforter on either side of him.

Dean grabs hold of Cas’s wrists and groans loudly, arching off the bed as wave after wave of hot come fills him up once again. His cock twitches and spills across his stomach, and Dean has to bite his lips from screaming as his overly sensitive dick is pulled through another orgasm. 

When it’s done he collapses, a boneless heap, hands falling to the mattress. He stares up at Castiel, eyes hazy, an exhausted grin spread across his face. His short hair is soaked in sweat, drops sliding down his face and neck. He swallows, his throat dry from panting and moaning for what’s felt like hours. 

Cas pulls out slowly again, his chest heaving as he takes a step back, cocking his head as he takes in the sight of Dean spread out across his massive bed, covered in his own come and steadily leaking Cas’s seed. Cas scratches absently at his cheek, his cock slowly softening and slick, bobbing between his legs as he moves to the bedside table and rustles through the drawer. After a minute he returns, holding something small and shiny in his hand, offering it to Dean.

“I want you to plug yourself with this,” he says sincerely, giving him a nod. “I want you to keep me inside, so even while I’m not with you...I can be inside you.”

Dean slowly sits up, his muscles protesting, and takes the plug from Cas. He licks his lips and nods, then reaches between his legs. It goes in easily, effectively stopping the flow of come escaping, and sits snugly inside him. 

Dean twitches and shifts, his hole fluttering, and sighs with a smile. He has part of Cas locked inside, something to remind him of who he serves. It’s grounding, in some strange way. 

Cas quirks a half smile and scrubs a hand down his face, brushing a hand across Dean’s knee before turning away and walking over to the balcony. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorway, looking up at the night sky, alight with shooting stars . He rolls his shoulders back, wings settling beside him and pooling to the floor. They look much healthier, lustrous and full, but even still, one of the feathers falls off and Dean watches as it floats to the floor.

Cas notices, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose, letting it out through his mouth. He opens them again, staring off into the distance, his face expressionless.

“You’ve done well for me today, Dean. Once again, I’m finding myself...pleased. Pleased that you came here with me, pleased that you want to serve me. Pleased that you’ve accepted me as your God.”

Dean sighs, eyeing the distance between them and trying not to think too much of it, but the dull throb in his chest is harder to ignore. He tries to stand and quickly discovers he can’t. His legs are jello and his ass is too sore to manage more than sitting up on the fluffy bed.

“That’s great, Master…” he says softly, bowing his head. “I only want to please you.”

He blinks down at the shedded feather and bites his tongue, worry gnawing at his gut. He wonders, worriedly, if his spell is starting to fail. But it can’t be. Not yet. Surely he has more time...more time for what, he doesn’t know. He still has no idea how to fix this mess.

“Dean.”

Cas turns, his brow furrowed, looking more innocent than Dean thinks he’s seen him in months, a fleeting glimpse of  _ his _ Cas. 

“Have you ever considered...the bigger picture, here? All this time spent doing what’s right and eradicating wrong, but...for what? What is it that humans live for?”

Dean snorts and twists around to pop his back, groaning softly. Sex with a god really takes it out of you. 

“Cas,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Humans have been asking that question since Day One, you know that right? From philosophers, to saints, to friggin’ Satanists. ‘Why are we here?’ God never gave us answer. So I have no idea. We just...live, because that’s what we do. Call it survival instinct or whatever; it just...is.”

Cas scoffs. “What’s the point, then? If there’s nothing to work toward, nothing to look forward to?” He sighs and walks back over to the bed, pressing his palm to Dean’s forehead and sending a wave of grace through him, healing the soreness and stiffness. He drops the hand to his side, fingers twitching.

“What do you live for, Dean? Don’t say me. You were living before me. Tell me what really matters to you.”

Dean chews his bottom lip, searching Castiel’s face for...something. He doesn’t know what exactly. Ill intent maybe? But he sees only curiosity and a small bit of frustration. It must be frustrating, Dean realizes, to rule over a species you didn’t create. Castiel has no more clue why his Father created humans than Dean does.

“...Everyone finds their purpose, Cas,” he says softly. “Maybe it’s not as grand as yours or the angels’, but humans can’t help what we are.” He runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes. “Me? I...I guess I live for my family. Always have. Growing up, everything I did was for Dad...for Sammy. It was my job to take care of him. To protect him. He’s all I had for so long...I did everything I could to keep what little family I had left.”

Cas trails his fingertips down Dean’s jaw and tilts his head up, a brief flash of... _ something  _ flitting across his face, gone as soon as it presented itself.

“Until I took that away, you mean.”

Dean swallows, heart fluttering with just the slightest hint of fear. Castiel had been hard to read when he’d just been plain ol’ Cas. Now...now it’s like looking at a mask. Dean has no idea what is going on underneath.

“You didn’t take anything away,” he says slowly, licking his suddenly dry lips. “You saved them. You got my brother back...you got him out of the cage. You fixed the wall. You’ve shown mercy when you didn’t have to.”

Cas searches his face with sad eyes, his thumb brushing over stubble. “Even you don’t believe that, Dean. Not really.”

Dean looks down, face crumbling. He wants to both lean into the touch and push it away. “What do you want me to say, huh?” he bites out, a little harsher than he means to. “Why are you asking me all this, anyway? It doesn’t matter now. I’m here with you, they’re safe on Earth. It’s done. Sammy doesn’t need me anymore.” Dean chokes on those words and takes a deep breath, letting out it slowly. 

Cas slides his hand intentionally down to Dean’s right shoulder, squeezing slightly. “You...resent me.” He holds up his other hand before Dean can object, waving it dismissively. “No, you do. I think I understand now. They...were your life, your reason for living. And I took you away from that. Without them, you don’t feel you have purpose.” He chews his lip. “I may not understand humans as well as I should, especially to be in the position I am in...but I am trying. I meant what I said, about wanting to make sure you’re happy here. I…” he trails off, pressing his lips together and looking away. “I want you to be happy...with me.”

Dean reaches up to grip the hand on his shoulder, out of instinct more than anything else, and his breath catches in his throat. He squeezes Cas’s hand, daring to thread their fingers together. “I want that, too,” he whispers. “I want to be here with you.”

Cas smiles briefly and gives Dean’s hand a squeeze, then lets go in favor of re-dressing himself. He pulls on his slacks, now magically clean and repaired, letting them hang precariously off his hips as he scratches absently at the back of his head. 

“Tomorrow will be a long day for you, should you still be willing to speak with Baraqiel. Perhaps you should get some rest.”

Dean drags his eyes away from those tempting hip bones and nods absently. He hesitates in getting up, telling himself that his legs are still a bit weak despite Cas healing him, but really it’s because Dean doesn’t want to go back to his room. He bites his lip, watching Castiel get dressed, and sighs. With a grunt, he reaches out and grabs a bed post, using it to hoist himself up. He stands like that for a moment, until his legs stop shaking, then begins gathering up his clothes. He dresses slowly, hoping Cas will stop him, but he already seems preoccupied with other thoughts. 

Cas pulls on his tie, knotting it hastily, and shrugs on his jacket. He clears his throat and scratches absently at his cheek, beginning to make his way to the door before stopping and walking back over to Dean. He cradles Dean’s face in his hands and presses a kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back to look him in the eyes.

“Do you require anything else from me tonight?”

Dean looks down and shakes his head, tugging at the edge of his shirt. “No, Master...I’m just gonna sleep now.” He looks up, still faintly hoping Cas will ask him to stay.

Cas’s hands slide down to his neck then fall back to his sides and he nods, his brow furrowed. 

“There’s definitely a television in your room now. I made sure to check that for you today.” He steps back and turns, making his way to the door and opening it, the stone scraping loudly in the large space. He gives Dean a hint of a smile. “Tomorrow I will likely be gone before you wake, but Cael will escort you to Baraqiel’s cell.”

Crushing, albeit expected, disappointment overtakes Dean for a moment. He manages to nod and follows Cas out into the throne room. It’s empty and not a single drop of blood can be seen. Whatever Cas did to Baraqiel has been wiped clean. 

Without another word, Cas disappears and Dean is left with the echoing sound of his wings. He blinks, staring at the floor, then trudges towards his room. He collapses onto his bed, pulls the covers up over himself, and falls into asleep filled with nightmares and regret. Like usual.


	7. Chapter 7

After only four or five hours of restless sleeping, Dean gives up and locates Cael to show him to Baraqiel’s cell. Cael is as silent as ever and once he shows Dean the cell, he disappears back the way they came. 

Dean doesn’t mind. He’s grateful to be left alone with the angel. He eyes the bars, etched with angel warding to keep Baraqiel weak. And Baraqiel himself, lounging almost casually on the stone bench, blinking at Dean with an unreadable expression.

“You the tracker?” Dean asks, leaning up against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Bara..qiel, right? Weird name, even for an angel.”

Baraqiel huffs a laugh through his nose and shifts on the bench, crossing one leg over the other and laying back with his hands crossed over his chest, looking over at Dean. It’s dark inside the cell and he’s in the far corner; even straining his eyes, Dean can’t get a good look at him.

“And who are you?” Baraqiel asks blandly, exuding disinterest.

“Dean Winchester.” 

He scratches at his stubble, which after a this many days is starting to look more like a beard. He shifts on his feet, the plug inside him shifting, as well, and he twitches. 

Baraqiel laughs dryly and looks back up at the ceiling, solid and concrete and boring above him. 

“So you’re the Winchester...the hunter. What are you doing up here? They finally insist you stay dead?”

Dean cracks a smirk. “Nah...still kickin’.” He pushes off the wall and strolls up to the bars, looking over each symbol with careful but bored-looking eyes. They then fall on Baraqiel, who is looking the worse for wear, dried blood and bruises littering his face and clothes. “Looks like Cas did a number on you.”

“Ahh, nothing gets past you,” Baraqiel scoffs sarcastically, absently tonguing his split bottom lip. “I guess you missed the show. It was quite the spectacle, according to the peanut gallery.” He rolls his eyes.

“Cas doesn’t want me to know why he needs you,” Dean says a matter-of-factly. “So I gotta figure, it’s not something good. Especially since…” He raises a brow. “You held up under all that fun and didn’t crack. Which means you must not want to do whatever he’s wanting. So, color me curious.”

Baraqiel sits up slowly, groaning with the movement. He rests his arms on his knees, letting his hands fall between his legs and cocks his head at Dean.

“Well, he wants me to track someone, of course,” he says slowly, “but I was Switzerland during this entire heavenly ordeal. Too much drama and in-fighting for me. And despite Raphael’s unfortunate demise, I’m not keen on joining up with the victor, either. I finally felt like I could be myself on earth. I went full method, you might say, and I don’t want any part of any of this. But it’s become clear that Castiel doesn’t care about what I want. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

He nods his head up at Dean. “So why are you here, really?”

Dean is silent for a moment, eyeing Baraqiel warily. What he’s doing is risky. Baraqiel could betray him, ruin everything he’s working towards. But he is Dean’s only option. 

“I’m just trying to save as many people as I can,” he finally says with a sigh. “So I need to know why he’s so keen on tracking Samael.”

Baraqiel hums. “Yes, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” He grunts as he shifts again to lean back against the wall. “I have my suspicions. But I suppose while you’re being...painstakingly honest with me, I have to ask...what did he do? Where did he get his power?”

Dean snorts and runs fingers through his hair. “He swallowed Purgatory,” he says with a false smile. “Guess he was hungry. And now every monster soul that was down there is inside him, and apparently souls are super-batteries or something. I don’t know how it works.” 

Baraqiel makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and stands with much effort, walking to the bars of the cell and leaning against them, his eyes serious.

“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.” He clicks his tongue and looks down for a long moment, moving to hang his arms through the bars. “Samael is an angel of death. A kind of reaper. His job in Heaven was fetching souls.” He pauses, biting the inside of his cheek. “Looks like Castiel’s hungry again.”

“Damn it,” Dean hisses, pushing off the bars and starting to pace. He expected something like this, but not more souls. Cas must know his vessel can’t take anymore. 

“Cas, you dumbass,” he sighs and rubs at his eyes tiredly. “What am I…” He trails off and rounds on Baraqiel. “You can’t track him, Baraqiel. Cas’s off the rails as it is.” 

“I noticed.” Baraqiel gestures to him. “What’s your deal, anyway? How you gonna save people from ‘God’?” He brandishes air quotes and drops his hands again. “Last I heard, he wasn’t being particularly tolerant. What makes you so special?”

Dean is quiet for a moment, his eyes flitting up to meet Baraqiel’s.

“I mean, I’d heard stories of the Winchester brothers saving the world and all that…” Baraqiel drones on, seeming somewhat uninterested in his own words. “Kinda hard not to. And of  _ course, _ it was quite the point of gossip for awhile when Cas abandoned Heaven in favor of helping you guys, but…” he clicks his tongue again, squinting his eyes. “He trusts you, more than any of his followers. Why?”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. It’s not as if he didn’t expect this question, but even so he doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t trust angels, even ones who seem content to die rather than serve Castiel. If Baraqiel decides to spill Dean’s little secret, will Cas believe him? Or will his trust in Dean outweigh the words of a prisoner?

“Let’s just say we’re...close,” he finally says vaguely. “I’m in a unique position. I’ve earned his trust.”

“Close.” Baraqiel repeats, watching him intently. “Yeeeeah, okay. So,” he runs a finger over one of the bars, the eye Cas-blackened twitching, “you came here to convince me to obey Castiel, and now you’re telling me not to?”

Dean shrugs and smiles bitterly. “Welcome to my world.” He leans in close, nose almost touching the bars, and whispers, “He thinks I’m torturing you. Trying to get you to to cooperate. I need you to help me convince him of that. And maybe, me and you walk away, and Samael doesn’t have to reap souls.” 

Baraqiel frowns and cocks his head in interest. “Dunno how well your plan is gonna work, Dean. If I don’t track Samael for him, he’s going to kill me. And if you’re not careful, he’ll kill you, too. Don’t think your position makes you any more special to him than I am.”

“I’m not stupid,” Dean hisses, baring his teeth. “If I’m not careful with everything I do, he’ll kill me. I know that. You have no idea what I had to do to get in his favor. What I’m still having to do. If this fails, we all die.” Dean takes a deep breath and sighs. “You are going to track Samael for me. And then I’ll take care of the rest.” 

Baraqiel raises his head slightly, a smile pulling at the corners of his swollen lip. “So I just...up and tell him I changed my mind? Don’t think he’ll be suspicious of my sudden change of heart?”

“Not after I ‘torture’ you for a few days,” Dean shrugs, moving to lean on the wall once again. “He’s already lost his patience with this whole mess. Give me a few days; he won’t care, as long as he gets what he wants.”

Baraqiel takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why should I trust you? If you're the kind of person he'd honestly believe would torture for him, then you must have proven loyalty to him in some capacity.” He leans forward again, resting his forehead against the bars. “What'd you have to do for him, Dean? Torture?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Kill?”

“Torturing was the first time I ever helped Cas, or Heaven, or any of these douchebags.” Dean says in a hard voice, narrowing his eyes at the smug angel. “Maybe you’ve heard of Alistair? Well, my time with him in Hell taught me a few things. A few things I was instructed to use against him.” Baraqiel raises a brow at him. “Yeah. So Cas called me in because  _ he  _ knew that I knew all the things that could make him tick.”

“Ohh,” Baraqiel says with interest, smiling mischievously. He starts to laugh but it quickly turns into a cough that has him doubled over, clutching his side. He straightens and spits some blood on the floor, looking back up at Dean. “Look, man, I really just want out of here alive. I want to go back to Earth and disappear again.”

“Help me, then,” Dean says, voice softening just a hair. “Help me track Samael. I’ll stop this whole mess. And I’ll make sure Cas leaves you be.”  He looks at the drops of blood on the floor and frowns. “I’ll do what I can to get you out. But you gotta work with me.” 

Baraqiel stares at him a long time—as if trying to figure him out—before he finally nods. “Alright, Dean Winchester. I'll find Samael for you. But only if you keep your ‘God’ away from me.”

“Deal,” Dean smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. He raises a brow. “This should be obvious, but I need you to to keep this to yourself...and, uh,” he waves his hand at Baraqiel. “I also need it to look like I roughed you up. In case one of the other angels gets curious.” 

Baraqiel huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He steps forward, holding out his arms. “Do you worst, Winchester.”

Dean pulls out a key and a set of Enochian handcuffs. He would like to trust Baraqiel—the guy seems cool—but he really just doesn’t. Once inside the cell, Dean is quick to slap the metal on Baraqiel’s wrists. He then steps back and pulls out his angel blade, twirling it in his hand. 

“Anywhere I should avoid?” Dean raises a brow, grimacing as he looks him over. “Though, it kinda looks like he didn’t miss a single spot…”

Baraqiel grimaces down at the handcuffs and gives Dean a deadpan look. 

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” He looks down and sighs. “Doesn’t make a difference. I can heal myself whenever you get me out of this warding. I can deal with the pain in the meantime.”

Dean sighs, rubbing at the back of his head as he steps forward. “Whatever you say, man…” 

\----

Dean is standing outside the cell, wordlessly wiping off his blade with a towel as he works to block out the last two hours from his mind. He sort of, kind of,  _ really _ hates having someone under the knife. It makes his skin crawl, reminds him a little too much of hell and what he became in the 40 years he was trapped down there. What he sometimes still feels he is.

Dean clears his throat and glances over his shoulder. “How, uh...how you doin’?” Stupid question, but he needs to say something. Needs to make sure the guy is still breathing.

There’s some scuffling from the far side of the cell, back in the shadow of the stone bench. A loud groan, a wet cough.

“Great,” Baraqiel bites out sarcastically, coughing again and spitting on the floor. “I hope you saved some for tomorrow.”

Dean winces, pausing in his cleaning. Fuck, he doesn’t want to do this again. Just the thought makes him want to puke. With a bit more force than necessary, Dean stashes his blade away and throws the towel on the floor. 

“Sorry, man…” He sighs, turning to face Baraqiel. “I wish there was another way around this, I really do.”

“You and me both,” Baraqiel groans again as he pushes himself up with effort, his back against the wall. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Dean. I’d hate for all this hard work to go to waste.” He gives a humorless laugh, pushing some of his long hair out of his face.

Dean bites his lip and leans forward against the bars, hands gripping the cold steel and forehead pressed up against them. “...So, Switzerland,” he quirks a smile. “What were you doing before you got dragged back into all of this? What’s so great on Earth?”

“Dude, you live there. Everything on earth is great.” A slow smile spreads across Baraqiel’s face and he licks his lips, laying his head back against the wall and looking up. “But lately I’ve been spending time doing the festival scene. Y’know, music all day, sleeping in tents, experimenting with drugs...the whole nine. It’s been one of my most... interesting endeavors.”

Dean hums knowingly and smirks, looking down as he scuffs his shoe against the bars. “Mm, yeah, I hear ya… Tried that a few times myself. Me and Sammy…that was always something we could agree on. He liked the music, I liked the company. And the, uh... _ extracurricular activities.” _ He shrugs, smirk widening as the memories return. “Well, let’s just say I met some...interesting people.  _ Friendly _ people. Good times were had.”

“Yeah?” Baraqiel leans forward in interest. “Didn’t peg you as the festival-girl kind of guy, to be honest. You seem more...I don’t know. Grounded. The type that wants something real.” He shrugs and sits back again. “Guess I was wrong, though.”

Dean’s smirk fades and he looks away, staring at a not-so-interesting part of the wall. “Hunters don’t get _ real _ .  _ I _ don’t get—” He stops and rolls his shoulders. “When your job is hunting things that want to eat you, all you have are those few hours with that someone. Whoever decides to look your way.” He shrugs, face guarded. “There was a time...when I thought maybe I  _ could _ have something real. But I...think I’ve lost it. Like everything else that’s ever been good in my life.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” They’re both quiet for a moment until Baraqiel finally looks over at him. “But I don’t know. I think that this free will you humans have is kind of beautiful because that doesn’t have to be the case, if you don’t want it to be. You guys get to make your own decisions, lead your own lives, do whatever you want to do. If you want something real, you can do that for yourself.” He sniffs and clears his throat. “You’ve never really lost anything, until you decide you just don’t want it anymore. There’s always... _ hope _ . It’s just up to you to perpetuate it.”

Dean watches Baraqiel through the bars, unblinking, then sighs and pushes away. “Yeah, well...that sounds nice and all, but…” He shrugs as he turns away. “Trust me. It’s...gone. He’s gone.”

He picks up the bloody towel and it dangles in his fingers as he walks away, feeling eyes on the back of his neck the entire way.

\----

Cas groans and collapses through the door, chest heaving, limbs heavy, wings twitching by his sides. He’d tried so hard this time, to rein himself in, to take only those who were necessary to his cause and leave the innocent ones. Dean was right when he’d said they weren’t all guilty, that they didn’t all deserve to be killed. But as it turns out, Cas’s power is too strong; his moral compass is fritzy at best, a faulty gauge with a needle that dances back and forth vigorously. Cas doesn’t know where it’ll land next. 

He can’t even be sure how bad it was this time, and he hopes Dean doesn’t use the new television in his room anytime soon, because whatever he did, surely it’ll be talked about. He finally has Dean in a good place...finally feels like Dean is beginning to trust him, really respect him, and he can’t lose that now. Dean’s faith is what makes everything he’s done worth it.

Cas pulls himself up by the door frame, eyeing the feathers that have flaked off around him. He closes his eyes and tries to remember what happened, but it’s all a blur. Where was he? A senator’s office? City hall? He can’t even remember, and he lets out a frustrated growl, moving stiffly to slump down on the couch. He drops his face into his hands and tries to steady his breath, rubbing his eyes hard. 

There’s blood all over him—again—but he can’t be sure whose or even how many victims there were. He thought he’d been doing so well, he’s been  _ holding back... _ he knows he has. But then, in a flash, everything went dark and all he could hear were screams, bones crunching, and blood dripping. He scrubs his face with his hands furiously, eyes squeezed shut, trying to eradicate the sounds from his mind. His power is fading; it has a mind of its own now, and he can’t control it. He needs a way to counteract it, and he vaguely wonders how Dean’s interrogation of Baraqiel went. Cas hadn’t been in much of a rush for the souls before, but now…

He needs them. Without them, the power inside him will take over, and Cas is fairly certain no one can survive that...least of all, him.

\----

Dean sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. The noise from the TV is like hammers bashing into his skull. 

“ _ Investigation is still ongoing, and the death toll has now reached over 60 as rescuers find find more victims in the rubble—” _

The remote flies across the room and crashes into the TV screen. He had hoped it wasn’t true. That the angels he overheard were wrong, or spreading lies. That, he could deal with. But it looks like, without Dean by his side, there’s nothing to keep Cas from flying off the rails.

The thought turns Dean’s stomach. He should’ve been there. He could have stopped all of this. But he can’t let Cas get to more souls, either. If he swallows more, he may be lost completely. 

Dean stands and walks out, heading for the throne room. He works to calm his heart, quell the rage. He can’t walk in guns blazing. He’s simply going to check on his Master. 

Once outside Cas’s door, though, he falters. He has no idea what is going to greet him.  _ Who _ is going to greet him. Dean steels himself, though, hardening his fearfully beating heart. This is Cas. He can get through to him. And if he can’t, then he’s already lost, anyway.

He swallows hard and slips inside. Dean glances around quickly and only finds a heap of bloody clothes that look like they were hastily thrown off. He steps around them and pauses when he hears water splashing in the bathroom. He steps into the doorway and sighs sadly, watching Cas trying—and failing—to clean the blood off his wings.

“Master…” he whispers, taking a step forward. “I can help with that.”

Cas pauses and stiffens, staring hard down at the wing, shaking off a couple of feathers stuck to his hand and watching them fall into the tub. He sets his jaw and closes his eyes, opening them again as he looks back up at Dean and nods marginally.

“Please.”

Dean rolls up  his sleeves and sits on the edge of the tub. He picks up a clean sponge and dips it into the water, then gently begins gently wiping each blood-covered feather. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks softly, glancing briefly at Cas’s face before focusing back on the wing. 

Cas lets his hands fall into the rust-colored water, staring straight ahead.

“I...I don’t know.”

Dean is silent as he works, thoroughly cleaning each feather, running his hands over muscle and bone to check for injury. Cas looks unhurt and Dean tries to ignore the implications of that. There’s so much blood. Even after hearing it on the news, it hadn’t really hit. Now the evidence is all over his hands, in the water, and he can’t unsee it.

He finishes a wing and moves on to another. He wants to ask Cas why, how many, does he even care what he did? Dean bites his tongue, though. He can’t jump right into it. He has to let Cas come to him. If he ever does.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Dean asks, carefully removing a loose feather. “I know they’re sensitive...the blood is deep, though.”

“‘S fine,” Cas murmurs, biting his bottom lip. Dean uses the sponge to work some of the dried blood loose, then runs his fingers through to pull them apart, and Cas shudders. “Thank you.”

Dean looks down at Cas, at the blood still caked on his skin where it seeped through the clothes. He wonders, vaguely, what’s happening to all the innocent souls that get in Cas’s way. Does he allow them into heaven, or is he eating them? 

“Lift up…” he murmurs, nodding as Cas moves his wing enough so Dean can get at the base. The oil gland is caked with blood and Dean is extra careful cleaning it up. “May have to groom you again when we’re done.”

“Dean.”

Cas reaches back and catches Dean’s wrist, turning slightly as he pulls Dean to him. Their eyes meet and Cas licks his lips nervously, swallowing hard.

“Dean, I...I didn’t... _ mean _ to.” His eyes are even turned down at the corners with regret, his features softer than when Dean had seen him after the first time  this happened. Cas shakes his head, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath. “I didn’t...I don’t—”

His words catch in his throat and he swallows again, his grip tightening on Dean’s wrist, pulling him closer.

Dean almost falls into the water, but he catches himself with his free hand, gripping Cas’s shoulder for balance. He searches Cas’s face, hears the regret in his voice, the soft and sad look in his eyes...and Dean could swear he’s looking at the old Castiel. 

“I-I know,” Dean licks his lips, the hand on Cas’s shoulder sliding up his neck and cupping his cheek. “It’s...we’ll fix this. Okay? I’ll help you. We’ll...we can make this better.”

Cas brings his other hand up to cover Dean’s, wrapping his fingers around his palm and squeezing, his eyes falling shut. He feels  _ grounded  _ when he’s close to Dean, when Dean touches him, reassures him. It’s the best he’s felt since he left the day before, and he wants to feel this comfort,  _ needs _ to feel it, needs more…

He slides his hands up to Dean’s arms and pulls gently again, opening his eyes and searching Dean’s face, eyes pleading.

Dean doesn’t need words. One look into those blue eyes and he nods minutely.

“Okay,” he says roughly, bumping his forehead against Cas’s. “Okay.”

He pulls his hands free with some difficulty, Cas not wanting to let go of him. He sheds his clothes quickly and steps into the water, wrapping his legs around Cas’s and lowering himself onto his lap. 

Dean slides his hands up Castiel’s chest, then his neck, thumbs brushing his jawline and feeling the scratch of stubble. “Better?” he asks gently, pressing close.

Cas sighs and closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to Dean’s and nodding. His hands move up Dean’s thighs and wrap around his torso, hugging him tightly, wet skin against wet skin.

Dean sighs and closes his eyes, relishing the quiet moment. Just him and Cas. Arms wrapped around each other, bodies pressed close, their breath mingling. Dean pushes everything else aside and focuses on Castiel, just him. His skin, wet from the warm water, his hair, running his fingers through it to loosen the dried blood. The feel of him underneath his legs, their bodies so close and yet not close enough.

Dean shifts and nuzzles against the side of Cas’s neck, breathing deep, his hand coming to rest on Cas’s bloodied chest. He rubs at it, the red flaking off, until it’s nothing but tanned skin. He kisses it, mouths at it, and works his way back up to Cas’s neck. He finds the pulse and sucks as he rolls his hips.

Cas slides a hand up to cup the back of Dean’s head, a soft sound of contentment escaping him at the feel of Dean’s mouth and tongue on his neck. 

_ “Dean _ ..” he manages, his voice hoarse and broken, “I’m...I…”

Cas swallows hard and shifts his own hips, pressing up against Dean at the same time as he uses the arm around Dean’s torso to pull him down, the water sloshing against the sides of the tub around them. 

“Shhh, I got ya,” Dean licks his lips and buries a hand in Cas’s wing, walking his fingers down to the gland and coating his fingers in the precious oils. He pulls back and reaches around himself, slicking his hole and quickly stretching himself as much as necessary. Cas watches as patiently as he seems able to, needless breath hitching as Dean works himself open.

Shivering, Dean lifts and lines himself up, then sinks down in one motion. Once he has Cas fully sheathed, Dean stills and shudders as he resumes lavishing attention on Cas’s neck and chest.

Cas’s head falls back and he moans; his hands find their way into Dean’s hair and work their way down to his neck. He shifts his hips and presses upward, his arms falling back to Dean’s torso and wrapping around again. His teeth find the fleshy part of Dean’s shoulder and he bites down, gently at first, then harder, until he finally lets go and runs his tongue over the marks. He presses his lips to Dean’s skin over and over, wherever he can reach, moving his hips in a circular motion as he stretches Dean around his cock, groaning desperately.

“That’s it,” Dean whispers and moans softly into Cas’s skin. “I feel good, don’t I? I think I was made to sit on this cock. And you’re so deep…”

He rolls his hips, rubbing his walls against Cas’s shaft, and slides his hands behind Cas to rub at the base of his wings. He moves slow, keeping Cas inside, feeling every inch of him. He slides his tongue up Cas’s neck, nibbling and biting, though not as hard as Cas had. His shoulder twitches, still feeling the sting, and it urges him on. 

“Use me, Master,” Dean sighs. “Let me take care of you. We can stay right here if you want. You can stay inside. I’ll keep you warm.”

Cas whines and grips Dean's hips, moving him easily up and down his shaft, gritting his teeth as he pulls his head back and looks up at him. It's enough to make Cas forget, to take his mind off of the awful carnage he caused. 

“ _ Dean _ …” he repeats again, though he's not even really sure why. He just needs to hear it, needs to taste the name on his tongue...the name of the one he so desperately needs in this moment, the one who he thinks may be saving him, little by little. 

“ _ Castiel _ ,” Dean whispers back, and is hit with the almost undeniable urge to kiss him. This whole time they haven’t so much as brushed lips, and Dean wants to lean forward and correct this oversight at once. But kissing is intimate. Something lovers do. Not Master and servant. 

He traces Cas’s lips and kisses right beside them, catching the corner of Cas’s mouth before he moves down the jaw, stubble against stubble. He bites down on Cas’s neck once again, this time harder, his tongue smoothing over the marks even as they disappear. 

Cas presses himself deep and nudges Dean’s prostate with the head of his cock, biting down on his shoulder with a muffled cry as his cock twitches with wave after wave of come as his orgasm hits. He tries to push himself deeper, his arms looped under Dean’s and holding tightly to the tops of his shoulders, pulling him down as his body shakes with it. 

Dean gasps, grinding himself down to get Cas deeper. Even knowing he’s as deep as he can be, he still tries, feeling that hot come fill him up, pulsing through his hole. He wants Cas inside—deeper and deeper—and isn’t sure how to satisfy the need. 

He spills between them, his come mixing in with the water. Dean swallows back a cry, fingers digging into Cas’s flesh, nails scraping against the skin. 

They come back down together with their foreheads pressed close, chests heaving, Dean’s arms thrown around Cas’s neck and Cas’s around his waist and pulling him tightly to his own body.

“You know so well how to please your Master,” Cas says quietly, pulling back and taking Dean’s face in his hands. “I am in awe of your infallible loyalty. You are...the only one I feel I can trust.”

Dean turns his head muzzle against Cas’s palm, closing his eyes. His chest constricts, guilt threatening to overwhelm him. He tells himself he’s not betraying Cas. He’s doing what he has to, to keep Cas—and as many others as he can—alive. 

“I have faith in you,” Dean says, opening his eyes and finding Cas’s unwavering gaze. “I want you to succeed, Master. I want you to make this world better...even if sacrifices have to be made.” 

Cas hums and strokes a hand through Dean’s hair. He shifts, pressing his cock against Dean’s prostate again, biting his lip as he watches Dean arch against him.

“Thank you, Dean...for being here,” Cas says, trailing his fingers up and down Dean’s torso and chest. He leans forward and presses a kiss to his shoulder, kissing and licking slowly over to his collarbone and sucking on the hollow point, his hands moving back up to brace either side of Dean’s neck and tickle the stubble there.

Dean moves on top of him, rolling the cock inside him in circular motions, shuddering each time it presses against his spot. He’s unbelievably full, all that come trapped inside. 

He grabs one of Cas’s wrists and brings it to his mouth. He mouths at the pulse point, then presses a kiss there. 

Cas reluctantly slips out of Dean, grunting as he pushes himself out of the tub, leaving the dirty water vacant. He helps Dean out of the tub and moves them to the shower, where he presses Dean’s back against the cool tile as the water rains down on them. He pulls at the back of Dean’s thighs, hoisting him up a little higher, his hands sliding down Dean’s legs so he knows to wrap them around Cas’s waist. 

“Such a good boy for me, Dean…” Cas murmurs, reaching to prod at Dean’s hole. He stops only to coat his fingers in more oil, then resumes the action as Dean arches as best he can to give him better access. He slips a finger just barely inside, then another, moving them in and out slowly. 

_ Oh fuck. _

Dean groans loudly, head hitting the wall with a thunk, hands grappling at Cas’s shoulders and digging in. He pushes down on the fingers, desperately seeking more, more of his Master. His cock is hardening again already, leaking and twitching. 

Cas circles a finger on the inside of Dean's rim, leaning forward to nose behind his ear. 

He leverages Dean between his hips and the wall so he doesn't fall and uses his free hand to capture Dean's wrist and pin it above his head. 

“You aren't too sore for more, are you Dean?”

Dean groans and shakes his head, tugging at his arm just so he can feel Cas tighten his grip. It sends shivers down his spine and he squirms against the wall with a whine. 

“Never,” he breathes, looking Cas in the eye with a little smirk. “I’m always ready for you, Master.” 

Cas moans and withdraws his hand, lining himself up and pushing the head past Dean's rim in one swift movement. He pauses and drops his forehead to Dean's shoulder with a sigh, then pushes in slowly, sliding his hand down Dean's other arm and bringing that one over his head, too. Dean's pinned to the wall by his wrists and held up by Cas’s hips and the cock buried deep inside him, and Cas pauses again to nip lightly at his neck. 

“I…  _ need _ this, Dean…” he says hoarsely, swallowing hard as he pulls back to look at Dean. “I need...you.”

“You have me,” Dean says, chest heaving as they lock eyes. “I’m yours, Master.”

He swallows and glances up at his trapped wrists, giving them another tug, jerking when Cas’s nails bite into his skin. It’s a thrill, being pinned down, completely unable to free himself. At the mercy of his God. Dean’s cock twitches, the slit leaking drops of pre-come.

“I need you, too,” Dean licks his lips, voice rough. “ _ Fuck _ , Cas, I need you...I hate when you’re not here. I hate when I’m not kneeling at your feet, when you aren’t buried inside…”

“My good boy,” Cas praises, moving his affections to the ridge of Dean’s shoulder. He rolls his hips, pressing himself deep, and the action makes a wet sound that makes him hum deep in his chest. 

Dean should be talking to Cas, asking him what happened today, trying to figure out what they can do. What  _ he _ can do. But dammit, Cas  _ needs _ him, and for the first time since he's been here, Dean finally feels like being here with Cas is making a difference, that he didn't give up everything he knows and everyone he loves for nothing. And if Cas happens to be a very large percentage of “everyone he loves,” well…

He's doing what he can, by any means necessary. He'll deal with the repercussions later, push down any unreciprocated feelings. He's done it before, he can do it again. 

Cas sets a steady pace, his grip on Dean's wrists tight but not painful, and he pulls back every once in awhile to watch Dean, read his face. Almost as if he's checking to make sure he's okay. 

Dean is definitely okay. More than okay. He’s fucking fantastic. He cries out with each thrust, both from the sheer pleasure of it all and the abuse to his overly sensitive prostate. Cas hits it every time, dragging across it perfectly.

He watches Cas watch him and it’s almost too intimate, their gazes locked until one of them tears away. Only to find each other again, unable to resist. Cas looks amazing like this, so Dean tells him.

“Gorgeous,” he mutters, rolling his hips as much as he could. “You’re so beautiful, Master. Strong. Powerful. Everything my God should be.” He licks his lips then bites down on the bottom one. “You deserve to be worshiped.”

Cas growls and picks up the pace, dropping Dean's wrists in favor of supporting his neck and back. He flattens his tongue across his bottom lip and looks down at Dean's leaking cock between them, watches himself pound into him roughly. 

“You are… so perfect, Dean…” Cas leans in again and presses their foreheads together, angling his hips upward further, pushing deeper. “I...I don't know… what I would be without… without you here.”

“You don’t...have to worry...about that,” Dean hisses between thrusts, his back sliding against the slick wall of the shower. “I’ll always...be here...Master.” 

He grunts at a particularly hard thrust. His fingers claw at Cas’s back, then find his wings and rake through the feathers. Cas’s wings hover over their conjoined bodies, creating a cocoon of darkness, twitching and ruffling. They’re beautiful and Dean feels safe with them surrounding him.

Cas nudges the head of his cock right up against Dean's prostate and rolls his hips, the hand at Dean's neck sliding down to grip his neglected cock. He spreads leaking pre-come down Dean’s shaft and strokes, slowly at first then faster, admiring the way the pleasure alters Dean's features. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall back against the tile, and Cas makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat, giving Dean's cock a gentle squeeze. 

“Look at me, Dean. Watch me.”

Dean obeys, the impulse so strong he doesn’t even try to fight it. He can’t. The need to please and obey is becoming second nature.

“Yes…” he whimpers, glancing down at his cock, watching Cas’s hand squeeze and stroke him to a fast-approaching orgasm. “I’m watching...Master,  _ please _ ...I need…” He growls in frustration, because he doesn’t know what he needs. All he knows is that only Cas can give it to him. This gnawing hunger is growing inside him and he needs Cas to fill it.

Cas’s breath hitches and he grunts as he pours himself into Dean, hips stuttering, warmth immediately surrounding his cock as it fits so snugly and perfectly in Dean's ass. He grips the back of Dean’s neck, pulling at the hair at the nape and burying his face in the crook of his neck as he pants through his orgasm, thrusting shallowly with each wave of release. 

Dean shoots his release mere seconds later, the feel of all that come filling him up pushing him over the edge. It splatters onto Cas’s chest, then smears as their bodies continue moving together. He cries out weakly, clinging to Castiel desperately. 

“ _ Yes, Cas _ ,” he groans, his scalp stinging as the fingers in his hair tug again. “Yes, oh fuck, you feel so perfect. So full...need you, Master...you fill me up so  _ good _ .”

Cas lets him go, supporting Dean as he slides down the wall to his feet and Cas’s cock slips out. Cas presses himself to Dean's front, swiping a thumb through the mess on Dean's abdomen, and presses their foreheads together again as he takes the thumb in his own mouth, sucking off Dean's release. 

“You taste so good, my pet,” he hums softly, opening his eyes again, so blue and so intense. He sighs, groaning as he braces himself against Dean and another spurt of come shoots out of his swollen cock. 

Dean twitches and licks his lips, watching it spill all over their bodies.

Cas runs a hand up Dean's chest and stopping at his collarbone, pushing him back against the wall. He gathers some of his own come on his hand and presents it to Dean, watching as he takes a finger in his mouth appreciatively.

“Soon I will fill you until you can't take anymore,” Cas continues, dropping his other hand to Dean’s abdomen, caressing soft skin. “Until your belly is swollen with it...I want you literally overflowing with me.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” he whimpers. His cock gives a valiant twitch and he presses their hands into his stomach, imagining what it will feel like it to be full with so much seed. He groans and licks his lips, wanting it now, impatient for more. 

“Yes, please, Master,” he begs, arching prettily. “I want that. I want your cum. I want to be swollen with it, feel it inside me.” 

Cas chuckles darkly and pulls Dean forward into the stream of water, moving to stand behind him, holding his hips as he presses a kiss to the back of his head. 

“Not today, Dean, but soon. I promise.”

He moves his hands over Dean's body, relieving him of the mess they'd both made, letting it wash down the drain. He's quiet, pressing a cheek to Dean's head, looking straight ahead at the tiled wall. 

Dean feels the change in Cas, the slight tensing of muscles and the brooding silence. He sighs and reaches behind to softly grip Castiel’s thigh. He leans back against him and closes his eyes. 

“Cas,” he says quietly, somewhat hesitant. “Do you…” Dean sighs and turns in Cas’s arms to face him. He places his hands on Cas’s chest, running them up and down the slick skin. “You want to tell me what happened today?”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line and grabs Dean's hands, their eyes meeting. He takes a step back and lowers their hands, looking away as he drops them and steps out of the shower, ruffling his wings, sending water spraying all over the floor. 

He grabs a towel and wipes his face slowly, then moves out into his hair, finally turning to make eye contact again. 

“I… don't know what happened,” he said truthfully, “Not really. Only… pieces. Flashes.”

Dean dries himself off slowly, watching Cas’s wings twitch with agitation. He’s starting to rely on them to read Cas’s moods. They are enlightening when Cas isn’t actively controlling them.

“So, you don’t remember,” he murmurs, tossing his towel aside. He bites his cheek, lost in thought. Cas is blacking out, then. Worrisome. Especially when Dean isn’t there to hold him back. 

“Cas,” he focuses back on the angel. “Is that what happened last time? Did you black out at the senator’s office?”

Cas’s lips part and his tongue darts out between them. He blinks and looks down, absently moving the towel over his chest. His wings twitch at his sides and finally settle, pooling onto the cool marble floor.

“Surely it’s instinct taking over,” he mutters unconvincingly, throwing his towel over the back of a chair. “My subconscious knows better how to handle these types of situations...sometimes.”

Dean chews his lip and steps closer. “Yeah, maybe,” he says carefully. “But...you’re God now. A better God. Instinct doesn’t control you.” He smiles and steps into Cas’s space, running a hand over his arm. It’s not a sexual touch. It’s reverent, appreciating the strength underneath. 

“You’re stronger than this power,” he nods confidently. “You don’t need it to take over. You know what you’re doing, Cas.”

Cas reaches forward and lays a hand on Dean’s left shoulder, brushing a thumb over the scar, his eyes trained on the spot. 

“Tell me, Dean,” he starts slowly, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “How many? How many people this time?”

Dean looks down and takes a shaky breath. “Um...sixty...at least,” he answers reluctantly, eyes darting back up. “But, you…” he pauses, searching Cas’s face. “You at least...permitted them to go to Heaven, right? You didn’t…”

_ Send them to Hell. Eat them. _

Cas opens his eyes and clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring as he takes a step back and turns with a huff. He scrubs his hand down his face and ruffles his hair irritably, wings twitching violently by his sides. 

“I don't know,” he says honestly, his voice breaking. He starts to pace the floor, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Dean, I...I don't know.”

Dean follows him out, hopping on one leg as he tries to put on his jeans. He can’t have serious conversations with his junk hanging out. 

“Okay, okay,” Dean sighs after finally zipping himself up. “Look, I’m sure they’re here in Heaven. You would have noticed if you’d gobbled up 60 souls. At least, the ones you weren’t after are probably here...just, hey.” 

He steps in front of Cas, effectively in the way of his pacing, and cradles his face. “We can fix this, Cas,” Dean says softly, a bit desperately. Cas isn’t the only one he’s trying to convince. “You can do this. I… You don’t seem to black out with me around. Just bring me next time.”

Cas brow furrows and he fixes Dean with a hard stare. “No, Dean. You— I can’t risk that. What happens when you join me and I…” he trails off, looking away and swallowing hard, steeling himself to continue, his voice quiet and sincere. “If it comes down to a choice between you and them, I’d...I’d rather gamble with them.”

Dean’s jaw clenches as he fights off the odd wave of emotions that come over him. He wants to bask in the knowledge that even like this, Cas still cares, in some capacity. But he shakes it off, for now. Cas may be willing to gamble with all those lives, but Dean isn’t. 

“Please, Cas,” he swallows, reaching out. “I know you won’t hurt me. I know it. This is a way I can help you.  _ Really  _ help. I want to…” 

“Enough,” Cas says, waving a hand dismissively, “I won't discuss it further.”

He moves to the large armoire and pulls out his own clothes, the usual suit and white button up, and begins to dress himself. He finally turns back to Dean as he's buttoning his shirt, giving his wings a solid shake by his sides. 

Dean hangs his head, chastised. It’s a good reminder of what he is. That no matter how much Cas cares, he still sees Dean as inferior. A loyal servant, and nothing more.

Dean pulls his shirt on and gives a final glance into the bathroom. Whatever moment they had is gone, he can tell. He can practically see the walls coming back up; the coldness he’s become so accustomed to returning. Only it’s even colder this time, the distance between them widened. And it hurts even more, the tightening in his chest almost suffocating. He’d laid himself bare to Cas and it’d been a stupid thing to do. He should’ve known it would only lead to this. It was too intimate, and now Cas is going to pull away.

Dean chokes and brushes past Cas, suddenly unable to be in the same room with him. When he makes it into the throne room, he keeps walking, pointedly ignoring the throne and everything around it. He doesn’t stop until he makes it to his room, door shut firmly, not  caring if Cas is angry at him for leaving so abruptly. He lets out a ragged breath and sinks to the floor, blinking away the blurry vision that clouds his sight. He closes his eyes and imagines he’s anywhere but here.


	8. Chapter 8

The hallways is still as dark, damp, and cold as ever. As Dean walks, his boots scuff the floor and the angel blade dangles from his hand. There’s no Cael breathing down his neck this time—the angel seems to prefer to avoid the dungeons—and no Cas, either. Not since...well,  _ that _ . He’s been invited to the throne room a few times, all of which he’s refused. He tried to sleep, which didn’t really work. And if he doesn’t find an excuse soon, Cas will surely beat down his door.

So here he is, back at Baraqiel’s cell, his eyes and heart exhausted.

“Hey,” he grunts, coming to a stop and leaning a shoulder up against the bars. He taps the blade against the metal, watching the warding sigils light up faintly from the contact. “Still in one piece?”

“Oh, yeah,” comes the sarcastic reply, along with some grunting and shuffling, until Baraqiel makes his way into the light of the cell, pressing his face against the bars. “Come back for more? I think these are starting to fade.” He gestures to the yellowed bruises across his face and grins.

Dean blinks at him and raises a brow. “Really? Cuz you look like crap.” He smirks slightly at the glare he’s given, though it’s weak and doesn’t reach his eyes.

He fishes out the keys to the cell and steps inside, closing it back up. He doesn’t bother with the cuffs and leans against the wall. Risky, sure, but what the hell. 

“Honestly, man, I’m just hiding out for a while,” Dean shrugs, glancing around the dark interior. He doesn’t much enjoy being back in one of these, but at least he has a jacket and is free to go whenever he pleases.

“Yeah, I was gonna say…” Baraqiel leans lazily against the cell wall, “You don’t look like you feel much better than I do.” He gives another humorless grin, tilting his head to the side almost mockingly. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Dean bites out, though his words hold no real malice. “Let’s talk about that ugly mug of yours. You know, I think that shade looks good on you. Yellow with a hint of puke green. Only one color short for Mardis Gras.”

Baraqiel throws his head back and laughs, holding his side. “Well now, I’m sure you’ll take care of that today, yeah?” 

“Likely,” Dean grunts.

“You’re touchy today.” Baraqiel pushes himself from the wall with a grunt and moves to the bench, lowering himself slowly to sit in the corner. “So what exactly you hiding from, anyway? Bossman getting to you?”

Dean lowers his gaze, staring at his reflection in the angel blade. “You could say that,” he mutters. “Heaven ain’t exactly paradise nowadays.” He quirks a brow. “But I guess you know that.”

“I have more intimate knowledge than most,” Baraqiel mutters bitterly, trailing the back of his hand against the coarse stone wall. “So if you aren’t going to tell me what’s going on, and you aren’t going to beat on me, why you here?”

Dean shrugs and closes his eyes as he leans his back against the wall. “You’re the only one I like talking to,” he sighs tiredly. “And if I didn’t have a good excuse this time, he was gonna drag me out of my room by my feet. It’s halfway true, anyway. Talking to me can be torture. Just ask my brother .”

Baraqiel nods and continues drawing patterns on the wall absently, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Castiel came by earlier, just so you know. To check on your progress, I suppose.” He pauses, looking over at Dean. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything. Would’ve spit at him, but he already looked pissed enough to smite me on the spot.”

Dean smiles bitterly, not all surprised to find out Cas didn’t trust him. “ _ ‘Check my progress _ ’...right,” he snorts and shakes his head. “Thanks for...not ratting me out, I guess.” He pauses and tilts his head. “Pissed, huh? Good...that makes me feel a little better.”

Baraqiel raises a brow. “Oh, so you’re the reason behind that?” He leans forward, pulling his knees to his chest, giving an interested smile. “Do tell.”

“I, uh…” Dean clears his throat, looking anywhere but at Baraqiel. “Been avoiding him. He likes his pet to sit in the throne room while he does his God thing, and I wouldn’t go. He...doesn’t like it when I say no.”

“His  _ ‘pet’ _ ?” Baraqiel scoffs and shakes his head. “No. Dude, you have a lot more explaining to do.”

“Well, that’s all you’re gettin’,” Dean gives him a shrug. Baraqiel is cool, but like hell he’s talking to him about that. Just thinking about it has Dean simultaneously embarrassed and shattered all over again. Everything he admitted to Cas, all that filth that had spilled from his mouth, all to give Cas what he needed. Thrown back in his face with an icy stare. 

Baraqiel nods and clicks his tongue. “This have anything to do with the eighty or so people he killed the other day?” He shrugs when Dean frowns at him. “The angels talk. Not everyone is exactly on board with everything your God does around here.”

_ Your God. _

Dean twitches at that and huffs. “Partly,” he concedes, twirling the blade in his hand. “He’s blacking out. Losing control of himself. He...didn’t mean to take that many. But he’s too damn conceited to admit he needs help.”

Baraqiel sits up and swipes a hand over his mouth, then points at Dean incredulously. 

“You mean to tell me that guy who is playing God can’t control himself? How do you know that? How do you know he didn’t mean to take that many? He tell you that?”

Dean nods, because he can’t really deny it. “Yes, he told me,” he says quietly. “He...you know, for a second, he looked like the old Cas? The one who cared too much. But…” Dean shrugs and looks away. “That power is going to eat away at him until there’s nothing left. I’m not sure I can stop it anymore.”

Baraqiel scoffs and looks away, shaking his head. Dean looks down, clenching his jaw, and takes a shaky breath. The hand around the blade clenches so tightly that the whites of his knuckles show. Baraqiel clears his throat and pushes himself back into the corner again, crossing his legs.

“Does he know?” He waves a hand around. “Y’know. How you feel about him?”

Dean freezes, his lungs closing up, the blade dropping from his hand. He chokes, trying to swallow, and whips his head around to glare at the angel.

“How I—what?” he growls. “I don’t feel anything for him.”

Baraqiel inclines his head knowingly. “Whatever, man. Not all angels are as dense as Castiel. I’ve lived on earth since God left. It’s not hard to pick up on human emotion...especially when it’s as glaringly obvious as yours.” 

Dean opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again. He wants to argue. Maybe punch the guy in the face. He might still do the latter, but he can’t argue. Baraqiel knows and Dean is plain tired of hiding his feelings for Cas.

“Fuck it. It doesn’t matter,” Dean says darkly, picking the blade back up and stabbing it into the stone. “Even if he knew, he… I just don’t think he’d care. He’s too far gone.”

“Aw, you’re breakin’ my heart, Dean.”

Baraqiel leans back against the wall again, looking up at the ceiling. “Seriously though, that blows. I think I was in love once. Her name was...Sequoia...or maybe...maybe it was Stella. I don’t know...some weird hippie name. But she had really great weed.” He chuckles at the memory. “That was...a really great President’s Day, man.”

Dean manages a small, but genuine laugh and shakes his head. “I’m, uh...not so sure that was love, man. That may have just been the weed.” He moves to sit next to Baraqiel and sighs, crossing his ankles. “I kinda miss getting high. Hunting isn’t a good profession for a smoking habit, though. A lot of hunters ended up dead that way.”

Baraqiel hums. “Yeah, I can imagine. Does have a habit of dulling your senses. Though I suppose, in particular situations...that can be a good thing.” He looks pointedly over at Dean, for once not mocking. Almost as if he actually cares about how Dean mightfeel. He doesn’t even know the half of it. 

Dean shakes his head. “I can’t afford to be off my game now,” he snorts. “What I say, what I do...I have to be so careful around him. If I was high, he’d know it. Plus, I get a little too honest when I’m high.”

“So, in other words:  you’re afraid you’d tell him that you’ve made friends with the guy you’re supposed to be torturing for him, and ‘oh hey God, by the way, I’m in love with you’?” 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dean nods, scratching idly at his cheek. 

_ Oh, and that spell? Only temporary. Your vessel is going to fail. Oh, and I’m actively working against you so you don’t destroy the human race. And when I had the chance to kill you, I decided to save you, instead. Because I love you. _

“Yeah, that would go real well,” Dean laughs humorlessly. “Huh, it’s no wonder I can’t sleep.”

“Could be,” Baraqiel remarks, picking idly at a loose thread on his torn and bloodied shirt. “You know, you won’t be able to avoid him for long. May as well bite that bullet now.”

“Yeah...yeah, you’re right…” Dean sighs and stands with a groan. “Before he gets too pissed and smites a whole city.”

He goes to clap Baraqiel on the shoulder, thinks better of it, and instead gently taps him. The poor guy is so torn up, any touch probably kills. 

“I know you didn’t have much choice, being a prisoner and all,” he says, looking down at him. “But thanks for...listening, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah, anytime,” Baraqiel rolls his eyes with a hint of a smile, “I’ll be here whenever you need me. To, you know, spew your God problems and all that.” He waves a hand around dramatically. “Now go make sure we don’t all die tomorrow.”

Dean grunts, locking the cell behind him as he leaves, feeling a little stronger than he had before. It makes no sense. They didn’t solve anything, but he realizes it’s nice to have a sort of friend here. 

When he emerges from the prison wing, he finds Cael waiting for him impatiently. Dean holds back a sigh and inclines his head.

“What?” he barks.

“He has been calling for you for over an hour,” Cael bites out. “He’ll take no excuse. Throne room. Now.”

Dean rolls his eyes and stomps to the throne room, throwing the doors open and strolling in. “Master…” he murmurs, pocketing his angel blade. “You needed me.”

Cas clenches his fist against the arm of the throne and presses his lips into a thin line, pushing himself up from his seat and striding down the steps, wings rigid on his back. He reaches the bottom and stops in front of Dean, cocking his head at him.

“Where have you been?” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

Dean frowns and clenches his jaw. “Trying to get your little tracker to talk,” he says calmly. Well, as calm as he can be anyway. “He’s not exactly easy to break, Master. It requires time.”

Cas presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he glares at Dean, then finally nods, lowering his voice to a soft warning. 

“You’ve ignored my requests for days.”

Dean takes a deep breath, ignoring the way Cael and Dumah (where the fuck did she come from?) were staring at them. “I’m...sorry, Master,” he says evenly, bowing his head slightly. “It won’t happen again.”

Cas stares at him for a long time before finally looking up at the other angels, nodding at them, then to the door.

“Leave us.”

Cael and Dumah bow and hurry out, the door slamming hard behind them.

Cas moves closer, moving a hand to the side of Dean’s neck, softly caressing the skin there. His other hand finds his hip and slides under his shirt, pulling him close. He leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s neck, and several more down to his shoulder, then back up, sucking a mark into the crook of his neck.

“I do not like when you’re angry with me.”

Dean’s fists clench at his sides and he swallows thickly. He lets Cas touch and kiss and feel, bending his body whichever way Cas wants, but he doesn’t lean in. Despite his instincts—these new ones he’s developing at an alarming rate—telling him to get down on his knees and worship. He doesn’t return the affection, because he knows...he knows it means nothing to Cas.

“I’m not angry, Master,” Dean says smoothly. “I just realized that finding Samael is...important. You trusted me with something and I want to please you. I...keep failing you. I need to succeed in this.”

Cas frowns against his skin but hums and pulls back, brushing a thumb along where his lips were. 

“You’re doing well with the tracker. I’m pleased with your progress.”

“Good. I only want to please you, Master.” Dean glances around the throne room then back at Cas. “Would you like to stay here, then? If you still have business to do…”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m...sending angels for some of my smaller assignments. It’s, um. I thought it would perhaps be best if I...took a few days. To collect myself.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he nods slowly, relaxing marginally. “Oh...well, I think that’s a good idea, Ca— Master.” He smiles a bit, falters, then glances down. “Even God needs to rest, right? Seventh day, and all…”

Cas huffs a laugh through his nose. “You may call me Cas, Dean. You always have, after all.” He moves his other hand up to Dean’s neck, watching his fingers brush across the skin. “And yes, I suppose you’re right. I am finding myself becoming…” he frowns, licking his lips, “increasingly tired. Perhaps I’m pushing myself too hard.”

Worry gnaws at Dean. Tired? Cas shouldn’t be getting tired. Even a little. 

“Then...you should definitely rest,” Dean says, goosebumps erupting over his skin from Cas’s fingers. He holds steady, refusing to give in to this impulse pounding at him. “You’ve been working so hard. Your angels are lazy. Let them pull some weight.”

“Yes,” Cas says softly, continuing his ministrations, nipping at Dean’s collarbone and sucking a bruise into the same spot. “Dean, I...I owe you an apology, I feel.”

Dean forces air through his lungs and blinks, staring straight ahead. “I...I’m not sure what you mean, Master.” He won’t get sucked in. He can’t.  It will destroy him. It took everything he had to get back up last time. 

“I...well, I was quite cold to you,” Cas pauses, kissing back across Dean’s shoulder. “There is much I did not say. Truthfully, I…” he pulls away and sighs, gaze falling. “I am afraid. But I didn’t want you to be, and I didn’t want you to think that I could not do my job.” He looks back up, fixing Dean with desperate blue eyes. “I can, Dean. I can do what needs to be done. It was only a fluke, I can assure you.”

“I…” Dean’s mouth hangs open and his resolve crumbles a bit. He struggles, not knowing what to say. Everything is just so damn confusing. He can’t figure Cas out. Hot one moment, cold the next, with Dean’s heart in the middle taking the damage. 

“I...I know you can, Cas,” he finally whispers, taking a small step forward. “If anyone can, it’s you. You’ll...take control. I know you will.”

Cas gives him an adoring look, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Your faith in me is unwavering, Dean. It’s tenacious. I wish I could find a way to convey to you how much I appreciate it.”

“There’s no need, Master…” Dean shakes his head, allowing himself a brief touch to Cas’s arm. “Serving you is rewarding. I enjoy pleasing you.” His cheeks redden at how true the words are, despite how much it seems to be tearing him apart.

Cas nods and opens his mouth to speak, but the doors of the throne room swing open and he closes it again, taking a step away from Dean and looking toward Cael.

“My Lord,” the angel greets, eyes cast downward, stopping just inside the door.

“Yes, Cael, what is it?” Cas replies irritably, giving Dean a long glance before looking back over to him.

“The younger Winchester, sir. He has given me a reply, for...Dean.” He inclines his head to Dean and steps forward, holding out a folded letter.

Dean takes it and pockets it immediately. He itches to rip it open, but refrains. He honestly has no idea how Sam and Bobby will have taken his letter.  Did they figure out his hidden agenda? Or do they truly believe he’s Castiel zealot now? 

“Thank you,” he gives Cael a nod. He has to hope this angel didn’t read the letters. His contained nothing that slandered the new God, but who knows what Sam’s said.

Cael turns and leaves, and Castiel turns his attention back to Dean.

“You may stay here if you wish, or return to your room,” Cas says gently, retreating back up the steps to the throne. “In any case...I’m glad to see that your correspondence has arrived from your brother.” He reaches the top and turns, taking a seat. “I know how much you miss him and Bobby.”

Dean shifts from one foot to the other, eyeing the door, hesitating. Strategically, it would be better for him to stay. Emotionally, it would be devastating. He doesn’t buy into this sudden show of affection. Cas’s ego is bruised. Not all of Dean’s attention is on him and the new God doesn’t like that. As soon as Dean is kneeling and praising again, that familiar coldness will return. 

He eyes his place by the throne and his legs twitch to follow, to sit by Cas’s feet. He grinds his teeth and stays put, bowing his head. “I...would like to go back to my room, Master,” Dean says, clearing his throat. “My work on Baraqiel is tiring.”

Cas’s face falls a little before he can compose it, but he nods once, clearing his throat, as well. He shifts in his seat, his wings ruffling and finally relaxing by his sides.

“Yes, very well. You can always pray...should you need me.” He licks his lips quickly. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean pauses, having turned towards the door. “...Goodnight, Cas.”

He bites his lip, fighting every urge to turn back and kneel, and quickly leaves before he loses the battle.

Once safely in his room, Dean breathes easier and falls into the bed. He takes a moment to calm his heart and clear his head as he stares up at the dark sky. Stars twinkle down at him, almost matching the floor, and his black canopy flutters softly in the wind from nowhere. 

After a moment, he fishes out the letter and holds it up, staring. The seal looks unbroken, but he supposes an angel could easily mend a broken seal. With trepidation, he opens it and reads.

_ Dean, _

_ Gotta admit, Bobby and I were shocked by your news. We tore through the country looking for you. We thought the worst. And even though I’m pissed you didn’t at least say goodbye, I’m glad you’re okay. _

_ I’m also glad to hear how good Cas is doing. Tell him thank you for fixing the wall. You’re doing something great, helping him, that is. We’ve already seen some of the changes. We understand why you had to leave, but we miss you. Maybe if you can find some time in your busy schedule, you can drop by. We can talk about everything you and Cas have been doing to create a better world. In the meantime, we’ll keep hunting and doing our part down here. _

_ Sam _

Dean bit back a smirk and let the paper flutter onto his chest. Leave it to those two to decode what wasn’t even a code to begin with. Some of the weight on his shoulders lets up and he sighs in profound relief. They understand what he’s doing, why he left, and are doing what they can to stop more carnage. He’s not sure about a visit. It’s unlikely, and even if he could convince Cas to let him go, there’s no guarantee they’d be alone. In fact, he can bet they wouldn’t be. Someone would be listening in, watching, invisible to them but there all the same. 

Dean sits up and digs his lighter from his jeans. He flicks it on and holds the letter to the flame, watching as it burns to nothing. He clears away the ashes and lays back down, finding it a bit easier to fall asleep.

\----

It’s been a long time since Cas has done this. Years, he thinks. And even now, he can’t tell whether he needs  to, or if it’s because he wants to. He’s having an increasingly hard time telling the difference between his wants and needs nowadays, especially where Dean is concerned.

Dean has been asleep now for hours, probably. It could be days, for all Cas can tell. It’s easy to lose track of time, watching him like this. Peaceful, quiet...relaxed. Unlike the waking hours, where there’s a constant rigidity to his shoulders,  like he carries the weight of the world. In some ways, Castiel supposes he does.

He knows he’s put a lot on Dean in the past few months. More than any other human in existence, probably, and more than any human should be expected to handle. But handle it he does, and beautifully, at that. 

Cas sighs and drops his hands to the armrests of the chair across the room, frowning in the direction of Dean’s bed. He cocks his head as Dean begins to twitch, his fingers tightening around the armrest, preparing to go sit at the end of the bed like he used to when Dean had nightmares of Hell...a knee-jerk reaction. But Dean quiets and eventually stops moving, letting out a small groan that snaps Cas’s mind in a very different direction. Cas lets his hold on the chair go, relaxing his body.

That day, things had become...different. It’s no secret that he cares for Dean. It never has been. The angels have known of his weakness for years, and of course, Cas knows that he is better off with Dean here in Heaven than on Earth, where he could potentially be used against him. But what happened before, when he’d come back from the latest...he supposes ‘massacre’ is the most accurate word for what happened, changed things  between them. They both felt it. Cas told Dean he was afraid. He just didn’t tell him the real reason why.

These kinds of feelings get people in trouble. They start wars, end empires...destroy worlds. Even the Trojans went to war for Helen of Sparta.

And Castiel is not supposed to have feelings. Not when he was created, not when he pulled Dean out of Hell, and especially not now.

He scrubs a hand over his face and peeks between his fingers to where Dean lies peacefully on the bed, snoring softly. Dean has given up so much to be here with him, to serve him, and he is certainly the most devout of Castiel’s followers. Dean would do anything for him, he knows, even when he doesn’t agree. He is  _ faithful _ . Cas hasn’t properly showed Dean how grateful he is for that faith.

He stands silently and walks to the side of the bed, tilting his head to look down at Dean’s sleeping form. He reaches out, wanting to touch him, to feel Dean’s warmth under his fingers, card them through his hair, worship his neck and chest with his mouth...but he doesn’t. He retracts his hand when it’s mere centimeters from Dean’s flesh, shoving it in his pocket to prevent him from reaching out again. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, then opens them and gives Dean one final glance before disappearing again.

\----

When Dean wakes the next morning, he feels more refreshed than he’s been since he got to Heaven. He stands and stretches, scratching at his belly as he yawns. He tries to recall his nightmares, but there’s nothing. His mind is blissfully blank. Odd, but he’ll take it.

After a shower and some breakfast, Dean steels himself for another day. He steps out of his room, expecting to see Cael waiting with a summons from Cas, but the hall is empty. He supposes that makes sense. Cas said he’d be taking a few days off. 

Shrugging, Dean makes his way towards the prison. 

“Yo,” he raps his blade on the bars when he arrives. “You awake in there, Black and Blue?”

“I’m in a constant state of awake, asshole,” Baraqiel quips, groaning as he stands from his spot in the corner. “So what’s on the agenda for today? You wanna give me some new scratches or are we just talking again?”

“I’m not doing that again,” Dean shakes his head, leaning against the bars. “I just can’t. It fucked me up last time. I’ve got another plan.” He grins at the angel. “We’re gonna be besties and you’re gonna spill all your secrets.”

“Oh, am I, now?” Baraqiel raises his eyebrows. “And why would I do that?”

“Because,” Dean sighs. “I...can’t stomach torturing you, man. Everything I know about torturing was taught to me in Hell. I...in the end, I became the very thing I had spent my whole life hunting. I can’t risk becoming that again. 

“Plus, you’re kinda cool. If my heart wasn’t in a constant state of shattered, I’d probably hit on you.”

“Ohh?” Baraqiel says with exaggerated interest, hanging his arms through the bars of the cell. “Dean, you tease.” He smirks and scuffs the toe of his shoe against the bottom of the cell. “Okay. What do you need to know?”

“Same thing. Where Samael is. I need to know. I need to get to him before Cas.” He lets the reason why hang in the air. He doesn’t relish killing a semi-innocent angel, but that’s what it’s coming down to. If Samael is gone, Cas can’t have his little snack.

Dean shrugs. “Same plan applies. We take our time. He won’t believe I won you over in a day. Way too suspicious. But don’t you worry about that. All you gotta do is sit in here and look pretty.”

A slow grin spreads over Baraqiel’s face. “You think I’m pretty?”

Dean blushes and pokes Baraqiel through the cell with the handle of the blade. “Shaddup,” he mutters. “I was being nice. I don’t find oozing wounds very sexy.”

Baraqiel gives a bitter laugh. “Right. So you just...expect me to tell you Samael’s whereabouts and you’ll...what? Bring him to Castiel anyway? I’m not seeing how either of these options is good for me, man.”

Dean’s face falls slightly and he clears his throat, looking away quickly. “Yeah, look, I know you got no reason to trust me. That’s fine. I wouldn’t trust Castiel’s  _ pet _ either if I were in your position. All I can tell you is…” He sighs and rubs at his eyes. “I’m doing what I can with the situation. I’m saving as many as I can and I still want to get you out of here. If me and you are on good terms, and you give us the location of Samael, Cas’s likely to let you go. The condition of Samael when we find him is hardly your fault. After all,” he gives Baraqiel a look, “you’ve been locked up the whole time.”

Baraqiel gives him a long look. “This was never about protecting Samael, dude. Frankly, I’m not even a big fan of the guy. But I didn’t want to take sides, because if I do get out of here? It puts a target on my back. If I tell you guys where he is and anything happens to him, his people will be after me. Because he’s hidden, and I’m the only one other than their people who can find out his location.” He sighs and looks Dean up and down, nodding in his direction. “Can you promise me my safety, should I get out of here? That’s what I need to know.”

Dean is silent, staring at a spot on the floor, his mind racing. Samael has ‘people,’ then. Whatever. Couple of angels don’t scare him. Especially with Cas around. In fact, the news they even existe puts them right in Cas’s war path. Which they probably know, and have likely gone to great pains to keep themselves hidden. It’s possible that one or more of them could escape Castiel’s wrath, like some of Raphael’s followers have. And no matter how cooperative Baraqiel is, Cas won’t waste any effort protecting him.

“My brother,” Dean finally says, looking back up. “He and Bobby Singer can protect you. They know every angel ward there is. You’ll probably love Bobby; you’re both cranky assholes. When you get free, find them. That’s all I can give you.”

“Humans,” Baraqiel scoffs and throws his head back. “You expect humans to protect me?” He chuckles and shakes his head, then shrugs. “Alright, man. I’m gonna trust you. But only because I don’t really have another option, do I? I tell you where he is and maybe I get out of here alive. I don’t, and your boy atomizes me. But thanks for, ya know, pretending to care about what happens to me.”

Dean narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. “I’m not preten—” 

He pauses and takes a deep breath. Friggin’ angels. He’s so  _ done _ with them. 

“First of all, these aren’t just  _ any _ humans, and you know that. These are the same ones that fought off the damn apocalypse. They know what they’re doing. Second,” he growls out, eyes flashing. “I don’t pretend to care. I either do, or I don’t. I don’t have emotional capacity to pretend this shit. If I didn’t care, I would have just killed you and been done with this whole mess. Without you, Cas can’t track Samael. Problem solved. So you can take that  _ pretending _ bullshit and shove it up your ass.”

With that, Dean turns and storms off. Mostly so he doesn’t stab the jerk with his blade, but also because he’s really fucking tired of angels and their inability to comprehend human emotions.

He grumbles and rounds a corner, skidding to a halt when he almost barrels directly into Cas, who frowns and holds out his hands in a defensive gesture.

“Dean? What are you doing?”

Dean’s mouth flops open like a fish, his whole body twitching with agitation. The day had started off so good, only to fall apart because that’s just his damn luck.

“I-just...um,” he stutters out then runs a hand through his hair, tugging in frustration at the strands. “I just— I’m sorry, Master. I’m just having a bad morning.” He clears his throat, regaining some composure. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Cas eyes him for a moment, then licks his lips nervously, looking down at his feet. “Well, I...actually, I had hoped that you would...join me in the throne room today.” He looks up with a pleading expression, clearing his throat. “It’s just— I...um.” He frowns, searching for the words. “I...missed you, the last couple of days. I felt...uneasy, without you by my side. Especially knowing that you were upset with me.”

That’s...new.

Dean blinks at Cas like an idiot, his mind grinding to a halt. His blowout with Baraqiel has left him scattered, and now this uncharacteristic trepidation from Cas is the cherry on top of this craptastic sundae. 

“Uh...yes,” he says slowly, jerking back into gear. “Yes, Master, I’ll join you. I’m sorry you...missed me.”

“I didn’t tell you so you could apologize to me, Dean,” Cas says softly, his left wing twitching slightly by his side. “I’m just...trying to tell you...how I feel.”

“Feel,” Dean repeats, always the eloquent speaker. Has he ever heard Cas use that word? He can’t recall. 

“Well, then,” he licks his lips, eyes flicking to the twitching wings. “I don’t want you to feel uneasy, Master.” He steps closer, a faint smile tugging on his lips. “I’ll have to fix that, won’t I?”

Cas’s eyes widen as Dean moves toward him, and he nods slightly, clearing his throat with a cough.

“Yes,” he agrees, licking his lips quickly, “yes, I...I think you might.”

Dean fights hard not to stare at that mouth. He won’t let himself fall into this again. He’ll sit by his Master’s side because that’s what he’s here for. He’ll play the part. Even if this nervous Cas is...sort of adorable, he knows it’s temporary. He can’t trust it, as much as he wants to.

With a nod, he follows Castiel back to the throne room. Cas climbs the steps and sits, but Dean pauses at the bottom, eyes flicking to where his chair had stood. It’s gone now, apparently his spot is now at Cas’s feet. With a deep breath, he ascends and sinks down next down to the throne, his posture a little stiff.

“No, Dean,” he murmurs, offering him a hand. “Come. Please.”

Dean’s eyes widen as he looks between Cas’s face and the outstretched hand. He can refuse, of course. If he cares at all about his mental health, he really should refuse. Refuse what, he doesn’t know. Cas just stands there, waiting patiently.

Blinking, Dean slowly takes Cas’s hand and stands, glancing around nervously.

Cas smiles and runs a thumb over Dean’s hand, then pulls him in close, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of his head as he presses a kiss to his forehead. He pulls away and moves Dean over gently, hands coming up to grip his shoulders, and he pushes him gently onto the throne, his hands sliding down Dean’s arms.

“You’ll be more comfortable here today,” Cas says softly, hovering over him, his hands resting on the armrests. “If that’s okay with you.”

Okay. What?

Dean sits, about as relaxed as a dude with hemorrhoids sitting on a cactus. He blinks at Cas widely, fingers twitching in his lap, breath coming in short pants. This is...above and beyond simply wanting Dean’s attention again. 

“I, but…” he stammers, glancing around as if expecting angels to pop out and smite him on the spot. “This is...this is your throne, Master. I’m only a…” Dean finds Cas’s eyes, searching for something that would explain this and only finding warmth and affection. “Where will you sit?” is all he can get out.

Cas chuckles and reaches out a hand, fingers brushing across the blush on Dean’s cheek, moving down to trace the stubble on his jaw.

“I’ll stand here, by your side,” he confirms, eyes flitting back and forth across Dean’s features. “I... _ want  _ you to be here. Relax, Dean. You belong here. With me.”

Dean feels like he might faint. Or, for fuck sake,  _ cry _ . He does neither and forces himself to lean back into the throne. It’s surprisingly comfortable for a big stone thing. The cushion on the seat is almost as soft as his bed. None of this is really helping him to relax, but Dean’s pretty sure nothing could. 

“...Thank you,” he chokes out, hands squeezing the armrests. He doesn’t know what else to say. This is the last thing he expected from Cas. Gods don’t give up their thrones. 

Cas smiles, moving slowly around to the side of the throne and reaching out to place a hand on Dean’s head, stroking through his hair gently. He leans against the stone, shoving his other hand in his jacket pocket, and hums softly.

“You mean so much to me, Dean. I want you to see that.”

Dean can’t stop himself. He leans into the touch and sighs shakily at how  _ right _ it feels. He’s too weak to resist, or too emotionally wrung out to care. The fingers in his hair feel good and he relaxes a bit. 

He doesn’t want to read too much into the words, but his treacherous heart flutters anyway. Dean looks up at Cas through his eyelashes and swallows. “You mean...everything to me, Cas,” he says quietly. 

Cas’s eyes soften and he leans down again, his hand sliding from Dean’s hair to his chin.

“You are the  _ only _ thing that matters, Dean,” he says sincerely, blue eyes locked on green. “I want to do this work to make the world a better place than it was when my Father ruled, but...at the end of the day,  _ you  _ are what convinces me that what’s in this world is even worth saving.”

That is...actually kind of terrifying, in an amazing way. If Dean didn’t already feel the fate of the world was on his shoulders, he certainly feels it now. He also feels those stupid little butterflies in his stomach because, hey, the celestial being he loves actually gives a crap about him.

“I think you put too much stock in me, Cas,” he laughs dryly, weakly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I don’t even know what I’m doing,” he says truthfully. “Half the time, I just make it up as I go. I’m so afraid to fail you.”

Cas moves to sit on the armrest, trailing fingers down Dean’s neck and across his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” Cas says, huffing a laugh. “You’ve done beautifully so far. It seems I can’t really be disappointed in you, even when I want to be. At least...not for long.”

Dean closes his eyes, leaning more into Castiel’s touch. It hasn’t even been long since he’s had it, and he feels like he’s starving for it. He just.. _.needs _ it.

“I hope I can continue to please, Master,” he sighs, eyes fluttering open. “Anything you want, need...it’s yours.”

Cas nods and moves his hand back into Dean’s hair, pulling him slightly to rest against Cas’s side. His eyes fall closed and he massages Dean’s scalp, feeling more relaxed than he has in days. His eyes shoot open again when the doors of the room are flung open and Dumah enters, her step faltering as she spies Dean on the throne. She squints at them for a moment before bowing her head, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Great One,” she bites out, “there are reports of a cult-like church whose followers have turned to violence. What would you have us do?”

Cas opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again, sliding his hand down to Dean’s shoulder and tapping gently. He raises his eyebrows when Dean looks up at him, then gestures to Dumah.

“Well, Dean? What do you think?”

Dumah gapes openly, her face reddening with rage, and Dean flounders for a second. He glances quickly between angel and God, wondering for the upteenth time what the hell is going on.

“I, well…” he bites his lip, tapping on the armrest rapidly. Dumah glares at him, as if daring him to answer. Daring him to give her orders. 

Dean blinks and sits up a little straighter, glaring right back. 

“Generally with these kinds of uh, cults…” he clears his throat, steadying his voice. “If you remove the head, the body will flounder, so to speak. People in cults are like sheep. They just play follow the leader, blindly. Take out the leader,  _ just the leader, _ ” he stresses to Dumah, “and the rest will scatter, break apart.”

“I was not speaking to you, _slave_ ,” Dumah practically spits, clenching her fists at her sides. “I was talking to _Castiel_ , my _God_ , the true _Great_ _One_. How dare you think yourself worthy enough to be in his presence, to answer for him, to sit on his throne—”

“Dumah,” Cas warns, hand tightening on Dean's shoulder. 

“My Lord,” Dumah pleads desperately, “you can’t expect me to listen to—”

“I can, and I do,” Castiel responds calmly, moving his hand underneath the collar of Dean’s shirt and along the smooth skin of his shoulder.

Despite the emotional turmoil of the morning, Dean is very much enjoying himself now. Watching Dumah stutter over herself is wonderfully therapeutic.

“Castiel invited me up here,” Dean taunts, unable to resist. “He asked for my opinion. I gave it. If he wishes for you to act on said opinion, then I suggest you do as he says.”

She glares furiously up at him, teeth grinding. Dean raises a brow and leans back a little, letting Cas’s hand sink further down his shirt. 

“Unless you’re thinking of  _ disobeying _ your God…” Dean smirks down at her.

Cas looks up from watching Dean and gives Dumah an interested look, waiting for her response with an eyebrow raised. Dumah bites her cheek then drops her gaze to the floor, nostrils flaring.

“Yes... _ sir _ .” It’s obvious that it pains her to say it, and she lets out an angry huff.

Dean smiles sweetly. “Good.”

He pauses and she waits, eyebrows ticking in agitation. 

“Did you have something else?” Dean asks boredly, looking down at his nails.

“ _ No _ .”

“Well…” He gestures to the door dismissively. “You can go now.”

She jerks around and storms out, doors banging loudly in her wake. Dean waits until they shut before throwing his head back in a laugh.

“That is the best fucking hobby,” he gasps out, almost falling off the throne. “She just hates me so much.” 

Cas smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Yes, you really know how to get under her skin. In fact, it’s a primary aspect of your personality. The uncanny ability to just…” he squeezes Dean’s shoulder again, “ _ really _ get people bothered.”

Dean shrugs and smiles back, feeling at ease. “It’s part of my charm,” he says with a sigh. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Tragic, hm?”

“Not exactly how I’d put it,” Cas laughs softly, shifting on the edge of the armrest. “I find it to be endearing.”

“You’re probably the only one,” Dean snorts. He reaches up to lightly grip the arm of the hand still buried under his shirt. When a finger not-so-innocently brushes over his nipple, he jerks and shifts in his seat. His grips tightens a little and he shudders.

“Now, I find that hard to believe,” Cas muses, clicking his tongue as he moves his hand back and forth, brushing over the hardening bud with every pass. “I’ve known you a long time. A great many people quite enjoy your charm, it seems.”

“Yeah?” Dean licks his lips, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t seem to think of any. Why don’t you remind me?” He arches slightly when Cas’s hand rubs over his nipple yet again. Damn it, he’s too sensitive, and this fucker knows it.

“I’d prefer not to recount the tales of your sexual prowess, Dean,” Cas growls, shifting to hover over him once more, his hands moving under the hem of his shirt to explore his torso, then forcing Dean’s shirt up. He kisses and licks up his chest, stopping when he reaches a nipple, taking it in his mouth and flicking his tongue over it.

Dean sucks in a breath and moans before he can bite it back. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, is a voice telling him to stop this. Reminding him of his promise to not get dragged back in, to save his heart the ache. But it fades quickly, because when it comes to Cas, Dean’s resolve always crumbles.

His lips find Cas’s neck, grazing it slowly, up and down. Scruff scratches him pleasantly while his teeth nip playfully at Cas’s jaw. He’s hungry for more of Cas:  his hands and wings and intense eyes. Dean iss greedy, starving, selfish in his cravings.

Cas’s hands find the button of Dean's jeans and pull them open with a tug, then he rests his hands on either armrest, hovering over Dean.  

“I want to see more of you,” he commands, looking down at Dean, “ _ need _ to see more.”

Dean blinks, cheeks burning, and nods nervously. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pushes down. He shifts, kicks, and the jeans and underwear join his shirt, off and forgotten.

Flushed with some embarrassment, Dean grunts and spread his legs. He manages to brace one against an armrest, a bit surprised by his own flexibility, and exhales sharply as cool air hits his sensitive bits.

Chest rising and falling with short breaths, feeling very exposed and vulnerable, Dean blinks up at Cas and licks his lips. “Like...this?” he asks almost shyly.

“Perfect.”

Cas moves his hands to the inside of Dean's thighs, sinking to his knees as he slides his palms inwards from Dean’s knees, until the tips of his fingers are flirting with Dean's pubic hair. Then he pulls back again, running his hands up over Dean’s knees and to the sides of his shins, down and around to his calves, then his ankles, then his feet.

“The human body, in all its forms, is quite beautiful,” Cas remarks peacefully, his eyes falling on Dean's, “but yours.  _ Oh _ … yours is mesmerizing.”

Dean fidgets under Cas’s gaze, every brush of his fingers like a spark against his skin. He can’t think of a single moment that anyone has ever done this. Just...look at him, touch him in ways that are weirdly intimate but have nothing to do with his cock. This is _worship_ and Dean feels strange for receiving it.

“Well, it’s yours now,” Dean whispers, unable to keep Cas’s gaze and looking away. “However, whenever, wherever…”

Cas's hands travel back up his body as he stands, one reaching up to clutch Dean's chin and pull his focus back to him.

“Dean,” he scolds softly, “I want you to look at me, always. When I speak to you, when I touch you… look at me.”

Cas nods once, his eyebrows raised in question, and Dean nods back in understanding.

Cas lets his hands slide down again, this time to Dean’s shoulders and down his arms, then across his chest and down again to his hips. He flattens them and moves them across Dean's belly, fingers splayed, before sliding one up his hardening cock and brushing the leaking head.

Dean grips the armrests of the throne and moans softly. “Cas…” he breathes, desperate, begging.

Cas moves again, descending down his body, fingers ghosting along his thighs, inclining his head to nose at the space just inside Dean’s knee.

“Tell me, Dean,” he says softly, commanding, “tell me what you need.”

Cas moves up and leans over him again, his lips parted as he breathes quietly, intense gaze locked on Dean's face. His hand cups Dean's jaw and he brushes his thumb across his lips again.

“I want to hear the words spill from this pretty little mouth.”

Dean trembles, lips falling open, inviting that thumb (or anything else for that matter) back inside.

“Touch me,” he pleads with a whimper. “Please, Master.” Dean leans back against the throne and arches prettily, hips thrusting up. His cock is red and throbbing, the swollen head glistening, begging for attention.

“I am touching you,” Cas teases, smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, his hands resting on his neck. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific…”

He presses closer and leans in, brushing his lips against Dean’s forehead. Dean huffs, snarling slightly, because apparently even with all the power in the world Cas is still a smart-ass little shit.

“Master, please,” Dean groans, making an effort to look Cas in the eye, as demanded. “My...cock, please...something, anything…” He’s panting now, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his hips up. He’s begging now and he doesn’t care, desperate to have whatever attention Cas will give him.

Cas smiles against Dean’s forehead and presses another kiss there, his hands falling from Dean’s neck to his chest and migrating further down. He wraps a hand around Dean’s length and slides his hand up slowly and back down, pressing his own forehead to Dean’s as he spreads precome down Dean’s shaft. As one hand slides slowly over Dean’s slick cock, the other comes back up to rest delicately on his neck.

Dean shudders and moans, an arm reaching up to wrap around Cas’s shoulders, brushing up against silky feathers. The hand on his cock is soft and teasing, but Dean bucks into it desperately. His legs fall further open, draped over the armrests, spreading wide for his Master to see.

“You want them to see you like this, don’t you?” Cas leans in, whispering in his ear. “Especially _her_.” Cas doesn’t have to specify for Dean to understand he means Dumah.

“You want them to _watch_ , because you enjoy it, and because you want them all to see how... _devout_ you are. You want them to see me touching you, giving you my attentions, taking care of you in a way I never will for them.” Cas hums, looking down between them, watching his hand glide wetly over Dean’s swollen cock. “I could look at you...touch you, all day. I’d keep you, just like this, in front of all of them. _Dare_ them to say something. This body is beautiful. It deserves to be worshiped.”

Dean writhes, throwing his head back and arching for Cas, his whole body throbbing with need. “Yes,” he whimpers, mouthing at Cas’s neck and shoulder. “All of them.”

Dean burns for every angel to witness their God take him apart so carefully, lovingly. Watch as he worships his pet, bringing him pleasure, while they can only seethe with anger and jealousy. Let them see how much Cas loves his pretty human.

Cas smiles, teeth barely showing, and nods, before breathing in deeply and licking his lips. He draws his bottom lip in with his teeth as he leans back, out of Dean’s reach, his hand still steadily stroking his cock, squeezing lightly, watching the head disappearing into his hand and back out again.

“Come now, Dean,” he commands in a low voice, his eyes trained on Dean’s cock, “paint yourself with it. I want to see it all over you.”

Dean does not need to be told twice. Seconds later he cries out, hips jutting up, and comes hard. It lands on his stomach in thick rivulets, his cock pulsing with each wave, balls twitching underneath.

“Cas,” Dean moans, reaching out weakly, his whole frame trembling with the orgasm and the need for Castiel to be nearer. His hand falls as another wave hits him and, impossibly, even more shoots out from his cock. He writhes as it coats his front, hot and thick.

Cas hums softly as he works Dean through his orgasm, his hand soaked with Dean’s spend and making obscene noises as he continues to coax more out of him. He lets go as Dean collapses, moving his hand directly from Dean’s cock to his stomach, running his fingers through the small pool of come. He spreads it up across his stomach and chest, his neck, leaving shiny wetness in its wake as he moves his hands down to gather more. He spreads it wherever he can reach, slowly, intentionally, mesmerized by Dean’s breath coming in short pants and his skin prickling under his fingertips. He runs his thumbs over each of Dean’s nipples, coating them in come, and Dean jerks violently. Cas takes note, his mouth quirking in a smirk, and teases them again and again every couple of passes.

When Cas is satisfied, he stands straight, directly over Dean, looking down at him.

“Know this, Dean,” he says sincerely as their eyes meet, “you are beautiful always. But right now, like this...this is when you are at your most intriguing. You want me to _devour_ you?”

He shifts his shoulders and rolls them back, his wings ruffling at his sides, then he leans down again. With his eyes still trained on Dean’s, he flattens his tongue against his sticky stomach and licks a long stripe. He stops only momentarily as he suckles softly at Dean’s collarbone, then drags his tongue up the side of his neck.

“You taste intoxicating,” he murmurs, nosing Dean’s jawline and moving so that their faces are mere centimeters apart, blue eyes hard and shining. His right hand slides up the side of Dean’s neck and across his jaw; fingers still slick with come rest just under his lips, lightly tracing there. “Will you taste yourself, for me?”

Covered in his own come and dizzy from probably the best orgasm he’s ever had, Dean drops his jaw readily and takes the fingers inside. He pulls them in deep, greedy, sucking enthusiastically. Dribbles of come slip down his throat as he swallows. His tongue licks every inch, the mix of his spend and Cas’s skin taste so good, so fucking good…

When he’s positive there’s not a drop left, Dean lets the fingers slip free. He pants, lips red and wet, his skin tingling pleasantly. His come is quickly drying, but Dean doesn’t make any move to wipe it off. His Master wants him covered, and Dean wants only to please him.

Cas reaches up and cards a hand through Dean’s hair, and Dean sighs at the gentleness of the touch. 

“Your obedience is quite admirable, Dean,” Cas says softly, dropping his hand and drawing himself to his full height. “It seems you do well at both giving and receiving orders.”

Dean grunts and lets his legs fall from the armrests. He blinks up at Cas, trying and failing not to preen under the praise. He sighs and leans forward, pressing his forehead to Cas’s abdomen. 

“Only for you,” he murmurs. “Just for you, Cas.” 

Cas pauses for a moment before wrapping his arms around Dean, a hand back in his hair, pressing him closer, rubbing softly.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “only for me.”

Dean sinks into the embrace, his body sagging, and closes his eyes in what he knows will be short-lived contentment. He’s fallen back down the rabbit hole and will regret it later. But for now, he’s going to enjoy this. 

Being this close to Cas, and not in an overtly sexual way, is...really nice. This is the kind of closeness Dean craves the most. He will use this moment in the future, when things are bad, and think on it. Remember it. Sometimes it will be his only comfort. 

“Dean, I…” Cas pauses and Dean waits, his ear pressed so closely to Cas that his voice comes out as a rumble. “I would like for you to join me tonight, in my room. It’s just… well, I don’t sleep, but I thought maybe you would sleep better, near someone...something familiar.”

He pulls away, taking Dean’s face in his hands as he bends back down to look at him. “If it’s something you desire, of course.”

Dean nods, his stubble scratching against Cas’s hands. He grips one of his wrists, squeezing lightly. “Yes,” he says hoarsely, swallowing. “I...I’d like that.” 

“Good. I do have one request, however.”

Cas allows his hands to roam along Dean’s body again, humming appreciatively at the soft—albeit slightly sticky—skin, hard muscle, and the dusting of freckles that Cas has found himself becoming strangely attached to.

“Tonight, after you finish your interrogation with Baraqiel, I want you to prepare yourself for me while you wait in my room. Can you do that for me, Dean?” His hands have found their way back up to Dean’s face, his thumb pressing to his bottom lip and pulling slightly, the other hand gently ghosting fingertips along Dean’s jaw.

“Prepare my— _ oh… _ ” Dean’s cheeks heat up and he looks down at his still-naked body. Goosebumps cover his skin from both the cool air and from the intense gaze on him. Cas looks right at his soul and it always makes Dean feel so vulnerable. Cas can see  _ everything _ . 

“Um. Yeah,” he nods, looking back up. “Yes, Master, I’ll be ready for you. Just…” he smiles slightly and kisses the thumb on his lip. “Don’t take too long?” 

Cas stares another moment before smiling, too, kissing Dean's forehead as he stands. 

“Of course. I highly anticipate it. I will be there as soon as I am able.”

Dean sighs and his hand slides from Cas’s wrist. He sits back and moves to grab his clothes, wiping what come he can off his chest before slipping his shirt on. He stands and shimmies his jeans back on, not really wanting angels walking in and seeing his junk. 

“I’ll be away for the rest of the day,” Cas continues, his eyes tracking Dean’s movements, “with a potential lead on Samael. Phanuel and Zadkiel will be accompanying me. I have assigned Cael to make sure you have everything you need. And Dean?”

Dean pulls his shirt over his head and freezes with it halfway down his chest, cocking a brow.

Cas tilts his head knowingly. “Should you see Dumah, please be on your best behavior. Do not antagonize her when I am not here to deflect. She’s a much more skilled fighter than you may think, and she is not afraid to die. It’s dangerous bravery.”

Dean scowls but nods his assent. He isn’t afraid of her. Skilled or not, her erratic emotions will make her sloppy. And Dean has a grudge. Sooner or later, things will come to head between them. He’s not going to roll over for her. If she starts something, Dean will be sure to finish it. 

“I’ll do my best,” he says with a shrug, not willing to make any promises. Dean is more concerned about this supposed lead, in any case. “You think you’ve found Samael?” he asks casually, quirking a brow. 

“Maybe,” Cas says, searching through the pockets of his trench, then pulling a lapel out and reaching inside, producing his blade and giving it a once-over. “It’s questionable information at best, but I consider it worth checking, in any case.” He stashes the blade away again and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m growing restless. I figure even if the information is no good, I’ll get to spread my wings a little, so to speak.”

Dean nods and bites his lip, shifting from one foot to another. He’s restless too. He hasn’t left Heaven in weeks, and even when he does leave it’s with Cas on one of his wrath missions. He misses hunting. Driving. Shooting things. He especially misses Sam and Bobby. 

“Master…” he hesitates, wondering if he should even give Cas this information. “You should know. Baraqiel hasn’t given me the location, of course. But he did let slip that Samael isn’t alone. He has a small group of followers. This info you have may just be a trap from them.” 

Cas stops and stares for a minute, then slowly nods. “Yes, I figured as much. But to hear that Baraqiel himself confirmed it is...very good news, Dean. I’m pleased to hear you seem to be making progress.”

Dean slowly exhales and nods, hoping he hasn’t just made a mistake. Likely Cas will kill them all, but if he doesn’t lose himself completely and manages to spare one for interrogation, he may get Samael’s location before Dean can. 

But his worry for Cas outweighs sound logic. If these angels are stupid enough to set a trap for Cas, there’s a chance they might have a weapon that can hurt him. Unlikely, but still. 

“Thank you, Master,” Dean bows his head. “I’ll keep trying.” 

Cas presses his lips together and gives a tight smile, then nods as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Very good. I will be back very soon, Dean. Please...remember to behave.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean blinks when Cas disappears in a flurry of wind and wings. He’s left standing there, contemplating Cas’s odd expression. A few feathers lay by his feet and he frowns, bending down to pick one up. He examines is, feels the brittleness of it, and is alarmed when some of it flakes away. 

With a jerk he quickly leaves the throne room and heads towards Baraqiel’s cell. He doesn’t relish seeing the guy again already, but Cas said he’d be back soon. And Dean can’t get that slightly  _ off _ smile out of his head. He quickens his pace, practically stomping down into the prison, not stopping until he reaches the cell. 

“What did you tell him?” Dean growls out, hand gripping a bar. “Who did you talk to, Baraqiel?” 

Baraqiel lolls his head in Dean's direction, raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

Dean narrows his eyes, gritting his teeth. He wrenches himself from the bars and casts a careful look over the hall, the other cells, looking for anything that may clue him in on someone listening. He sees nothing, of course, and his eyes land back on Baraqiel. 

He could be overreacting. Cas is hard to read at the best of times. Perhaps he’s just reading too much into that look. And what would Baraqiel stand to get if he told anyone about their little scheme?

Dean sighs slowly and rubs a hand over his mouth. “You know what, never mind. Just...forget it. I think...think I’m finally going crazy.” 

Baraqiel squints and pushes himself up, shuffling to the cell door and leaning against it, his eyes widened marginally. “What's going on?”

“Nothin’,” Dean grunts and takes a deep breath, tugging at his short hair. “It’s just...been a really weird fucking day.”

He eyes Baraqiel, recalling the way he’d blown up at the other just that morning, and suddenly feels very awkward. 

“No no, something happened,” Baraqiel insists, biting his bottom lip. “C’mon man...I deserve to know. I’m the one whose life is on the line here.”

Dean exhales roughly through his nose and looks away. “I just imagined it, but...I mentioned you and Cas…” He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “For just a sec, I could swear he...knew.”

“There’s no way he could know,” Baraqiel says unconvincingly, fingering one of the bars of the cell. “I mean, I haven’t told him anything. I haven’t told anyone anything.” He chews his lip nervously, letting out a deep breath. “Where is he now?”

“Hell if I know,” Dean mutters, throwing his hands up. “Said something about some lead on Samael. Probably false info, but…” he shrugs helplessly, once again casting his eyes around. 

Baraqiel narrows his eyes. “No, that’s impossible. Samael is well hidden. He didn’t...tell you where he got this information?”

Dean shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “No...just said it was  _ questionable _ .” He shakes his head again. “I don’t know, man. The whole thing is...weird. He wasn’t…” Dean blushes and clears his throat. “He wasn’t exactly in a bad mood…”

Dean trails off then curses under his breath. Shit, he’s been so blind. Of course that’s why Cas has been buttering him up. He knows what Dean is up to. It’s some sick punishment, getting Dean to let his guard down, until he’s at his most vulnerable. Then Cas will tear him apart.

“No, Dean, listen,” Baraqiel’s voice is hushed and he presses closer, reaching through the bars to grasp the arm of Dean’s shirt and throwing a glance down the hall. “If Castiel says he has information on Samael’s whereabouts, then someone is intentionally feeding him false information. Someone he trusts. Someone who wants him there specifically, or at least...away from here.” He lets go of Dean in favor of grabbing a bar, and nods slightly. “If I were you...I’d be very careful. Watch your back, man.”

Dean clenches his jaw and instinctively pats his jacket, feeling the angel blade fit snugly into place. What Baraqiel says makes too much sense. None of the angels here likes his presence, let alone his influence on Cas. The timing is perfect if someone wanted to get rid of Dean before Cas could interfere.

“I…” Dean glances down the hallway. “I gotta go. B…” He turns back to the angel and frowns. “Just...thanks.”

Baraqiel raises his head slightly in acknowledgement, his hands gripping tightly at the bars in front of him. “Yeah. Just get me out of here, dude.”

“Tell you what,” Dean murmurs. “I survive the next 24 hours, your freedom is my priority. If you don’t see me again by tomorrow…” he shrugs. “Give ‘em hell.”

“That I can do,” Baraqiel smirks, huffing a laugh. “But seriously...don’t die. Find the traitor. Expose them. Castiel listens to you.”

Dean nods, trying to look more confident than he feels. A few angels he can handle, but if this turns into some full on brawl? Eventually his humanity is going to lose.

Without another word, Dean starts making his way towards Cas’s room. It’s likely the safest place for him...the problem is getting there in one piece. The more he thinks about it, the more Baraqiel’s warning makes sense. There’s been nothing on Samael, not a whisper, and now suddenly they had a lead on his actual location? Dean is suddenly very annoyed that Cas would leap at such an obvious fake trail. He’s smart than that. And as much as Dean hates admitting it, he depends on Cas to keep him safe around here. 

The halls are mostly empty, and Dean only runs into a few angels on the way. His heart hammering, he waits for each one to make a move. They don’t though, moving on without so much as a glance at him. Feeling stupid and paranoid, Dean quickens his step. 

He’s not stupid; he knows who fed Cas that false information. Dumah has had it out for him since the beginning. He wouldn’t be surprised at all to find her waiting for him in the throne room. 

Dean’s fingers itch to draw his blade as he approaches the throne room doors. He pauses, contemplating praying to Cas. Would he come back if Dean asked? Or would he be suspicious that Dean is calling him back right when he may have Samael in sight?

“Dean?”

Dean spins around to find Cael, head down and unassuming, just outside the throne room doors. He presses his lips into a thin line and inclines his head, then looks back up, expression sincere. “May I speak with you?”

Cael is...not who Dean expected at all. He pauses, hand half raised to draw his blade. Cael looks a little stiff, but not someone looking for a fight.

“Uh…” Dean blinks and lets his hand drop. “Yeah. Sure. What’s up?”

Cael clears his throat nervously and looks around, clasping and unclasping his hands in front of him. “Castiel, he’s...he’s gone, correct?”

Dean narrows his eyes and shifts on his feet. “Ah...yeah, he’s gone,” he says slowly. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?’

“I was rather hoping you could tell me,” Cael says honestly, taking a deep breath and blowing it out of his nose. “Dean, I...he talks to you. More than any of us, and… honestly? I know there’s more going on with him than he’s letting on to any of us. He’s becoming...desperate, more and more of a loose cannon. We never know what he’s going to do. And now with this obsession with Samael…” he trails off, looking down the hall and worriedly back at Dean. “Why does he need the souls?”

Dean swallows, tapping his fingers on his thigh. This could be a trap. A way for Cael to corner Dean into confessing some sort of disloyalty. 

The look on Cael’s face, though, has Dean believing him to be sincere. Cael looks worried, stressed, even a little scared. Without a word, Dean grabs Cael’s wrist and drags him into the throne room. Without Cas around, angels don’t usually enter. A quick glance around by both of them confirms they’re alone.

“He can’t have more souls, Cael,” Dean whispers harshly. “His vessel...it’s failing. But if he consumes more souls, it’s just going to speed up the process. We can’t let him find Samael.”

Cael nods slowly, glancing around them once more. 

“He listens to you,” Cael repeats, making eye contact. “Have you...tried to convince him of this?”

“...No,” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He doesn’t know that I know any of this. Or...hell, maybe he does. It’s hard to tell anymore. I was hoping…” he sighs tiredly. “I was hoping to find Samael before he did and...take care of the problem.”

Cael nods solemnly. “I think...that sounds like the best option. Dean, he...I know you have had trouble accepting some of the decisions Castiel has had to make since assuming this position, but you must know that he is a far better leader than Raphael would have been. He is fair. He treats us well. He values our opinions. I know that...it may not always be obvious to you, but…” he looks down, taking a deep breath. “We must do whatever we can do preserve him. If consuming these souls will destroy him, then we must stop it. By any means necessary.”

Dean searches Cael’s face, looking for anything that might tell him this is a lie. Some clever act to get Dean to trip up, but he just can’t find any. Cael has never given him issues. Stiff and formal, Cael was always been, at the very least, neutral to Dean’s position. Accepting, perhaps resigned, but never aggressive.

“Trust me, I remember Raphael,” Dean snorts. “I know we’re better off with Cas, but it doesn’t make this situation any less unstable. Cas is at a tipping point and I’m...I’m just trying to hold him together.” He gives Cael a hard look. “Can I count on you, Cael? If things get hairy, I need to know you’re on my side.”

“With all due respect, Dean...I fear that if Castiel reaches that tipping point, there will not be much that you and I can do,” Cael lowers his voice, “but yes, I will help in any way I can. Please exercise discretion in speaking with me. What we’re doing...he’d consider it treason. It does not matter if our intentions are pure.” 

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You angels are always so ready to give up. You know, if me and Sammy had that attitude we never would have stopped the apocalypse.”

Cael presses his lips together, but says nothing as he looks away.

Dean sighs and rolls his too tense shoulders. “I’m not an idiot, Cael...I know exactly what would happen if he caught us. I’m around him more than any of you. I know how he operates.” 

Cael bows his head. “My apologies, sir. I am... _ confident _ ...that if anyone can pull Castiel away from the proverbial edge, it would be you. He... _ cherishes _ you.” He looks around the throne room, as if it’s the first time he’s been given the opportunity to notice its intricate details. “When is he due to return?”

Dean clears his throat, eyes dancing from the throne to Cas’s door and back to Cael. He shakes his head with an irritated scowl. “I don’t know. He didn’t exactly give me a time. Soon, I’m guessing…” 

He eyes Cas’s door and shifts on his feet. “I, ah, have something to do before he gets back.” He swallows. “So if you’ve got something else to say, let’s hear it.” 

Cael looks up at the throne for a long time before looking back over at Dean, licking his lips nervously. 

“Sir, forgive me, but...I know you have formed a friendship with the tracker. Castiel will assume this false information came from him. If you want to protect your friend, you should consider how to broach the subject with Castiel.” He pauses, watching for Dean’s reaction. “I knew Baraqiel long before this. He is a good angel. I did not want to get him in trouble, but this was the only way I could think of to get to speak to you without Castiel’s knowledge. Please...do whatever you can to help him.”

Dean exhales loudly and rubs hard at his eyes, feeling a throbbing behind them. He’s starting to miss the apocalypse. It was less stressful. 

“I’m already doing what I can,” he growls, casting Cael a tired look. “Just…” Dean closes his eyes briefly. “Look I’m going to try and get him out, okay? But just because Cas... _ cherishes  _ me, doesn’t mean I have a say in every decision. Trust me.”

“Yes, of course, I'm sorry, sir.” Cael nods in apology. “I will let you get back to your task. Thank you for speaking so openly with me.” 

Dean narrows his eyes and gives Cael a curt nod then turns and walks quickly to Cas’s bedroom. He leans against the door once inside and takes a few breaths, trying to calm his heart. He wonders if he’ll ever have a normal day again, then snorts at himself for even thinking it.

Pushing off from the door, Dean walks over to the bed and sits. He glances out the window. It’s getting dark, clouds gathering slowly for some impending storm. Weather in Heaven is strange to say the least, but here in Cas’s space it’s even stranger. Maybe Cas’s mere presence throws the elements out of whack.

Dean takes a deep breath and starts to undress. His Master wants him  _ ready _ by the time he gets back. So he would be. 

Ever the obedient pet.

\----

The visit to Earth had been disappointing, but nothing Castiel hadn’t expected when he heard of the “sighting”. Samael wouldn’t have spent as much time and energy on hiding as well as he did to be so easily found. And that was just it...the news of the sighting had been  _ too easy _ . Add that to the fact that it was Cael who told him what Baraqiel had supposedly said, not Dean, who had been the sole interrogator since the first day. Something about that makes Castiel uncomfortable. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is...perhaps the fact that because of him, Dean is seemingly torturing again. Or perhaps it’s the idea that he really  _ isn’t _ .

Or maybe it’s that Dean seems to actually care what happens to him. 

He pushes the thought aside. Strangely, he hadn’t even been all that upset that he didn’t find Samael. Taking out all of his people, bringing him back here, interrogating, torturing, forcing him to do the job Castiel sought him out for...it would have taken time. Lots of time. 

Frustratingly, all Castiel could think about was coming back here. Coming back to Dean. He knows perhaps he should worry that such a human urge had begun to take precedence over what he knows to be of the greatest importance, but he can’t find it in him to care.

Teleportation lands him on the balcony of his bedroom. The threat of the impending storm seems fitting, his grace tumbling through his veins and setting his nerve endings on fire, much like the crackling of lightning. It’s warm and there’s a chilling static in the air, and it excites Castiel, lighting his eyes with grace and spreading his wings wide. He ruffles them once and tucks them back down by his sides, taking a step inside the doorway.

And he  _ freezes,  _ breath hitching in his throat.

Dean is on his back in Cas’s bed, stretched out wide. His legs spread, displaying his hole as he drives his fingers in and out slowly. His fingers and rim glisten with oil Cas had left for him on the bedside table. 

Dean moans and arches when he’s able to brush against his prostate. He slips in a third finger, trying to reach it again, imagining it’s his Master’s cock stretching it open. The fantasy is short lived, leaving him somewhat frustrated. His fingers are nothing compared to the real thing.

“ _ Cas… _ ” Dean breathes, a quiet prayer. He wants him back  _ now _ . Needs to feel Cas inside again. 

Cas’s cock twitches at the sound of Dean’s voice echoing in his head, and as strong as the desire is to just stand and  _ watch _ , the desire to be buried inside his pet is much greater. His chest rises and falls in anticipation as he steps closer.

“Master,” Dean sighs, eyes fluttering open at the sound of Cas’s shoes against the marble. He hardly even needs to look. He can feel Cas, his energy crackling around them, making his hair stand on end. His fingers slip out, leaving his hole clenching around nothing.

He lifts his hips, shamelessly showing off. “I’m ready for you,” Dean groans. “Please, Cas, I’m so  _ empty _ .”

Cas swallows hard and takes a step forward, shrugging out of his trench coat and letting it fall to the floor. His dress jacket follows, then his shoes, all before he reaches the bed at the center of the room. That’s where it ends though, because Dean is right in front of him and on display, and Cas can’t think about anything else.

Dean looks beautiful laid out like this for him, and Cas’s hands automatically land on his knees and push them open wider, thumbs massaging the skin as he slides them up, his mouth hanging slightly open with awe and tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. 

“You’re so  _ good _ for me, Dean,” Cas moans, leaning down and pressing his lips to Dean’s hip, then licking a stripe over. “So obedient. So beautiful…”

Dean shivers violently, Cas’s touch like tiny pricks of lightning. The storm outside rumbles and rain begins to pelt against the stone balconies, flashes of lightning lighting up the room. He trembles, chest heaving, and itches to reach down and grip himself. His cock is swollen against his belly, drops of cum dribbling out.

“Master, please,” he begs, licking his lips. “I need you inside. I need to be  _ full _ .”

Cas reluctantly pulls away and unbuckles his belt, then unbuttons his pants, his eyes never leaving Dean’s body. He pulls hard at his tie, loosening and pulling it off, then fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, frustrated with his inability to get undressed quicker. His wings ruffle at his sides just before he finishes with the buttons and pushes the shirt off his arms, letting it fall to the floor. He pushes down his slacks and boxers, his hard cock springing free, and he grips it at the base as he steps out of his slacks.

“You’re more than ready for me, aren’t you, Dean?” he teases, sounding more confident than he feels, as badly as he aches to be inside him. “You want your Master to fill you up?”

“ _ Yes, Master, _ ” Dean gasps, pushing himself up on his elbows so he can look at the beautiful creature before him. He licks his lips, now wondering exactly where he wants his Master. Deep in his hole, or buried halfway down his throat. 

He eyes skirt up to Cas’s face and he smirks. He would let his Master decide where he’d put that pretty cock, just as long as he did it quickly. “I think you promised to make me  _ swell _ ,” Dean tilts his head and bites his lip. His body twitches, dying to have Cas inside. 

Cas practically whines as he crawls onto the bed and hovers over Dean. He runs the swollen head of his cock over Dean's twitching hole, glistening with the oil he left from his wings. 

“Indeed I did,” he murmurs, nipping at Dean's collarbone. “I intend to keep that promise.”

He pulls back and pushes Dean's thighs up, giving him a good view of his puckered entrance. In one swift movement he buries himself inside, watching as Dean's hole swallows him up. He lets out a low groan at the wet heat surrounding him, Dean's name falling desperately from his lips. 

Dean  _ moans _ , loudly, as he is finally filled up. His head falls back onto the bed and he aches up, rolling his hips. Cas’s cock hits his spot dead on and Dean jerks, his own cock twitching against his stomach. 

He growls and wraps his legs around Cas’s waist, squeezing and pulling him closer. His fingers twist into the sheets, pulling at them desperately. “Master,” he gasps, staring up at Castiel. It feels so good, amazing, perfect. He’s made for this. Made for his Master, to please him and fit perfectly around him. 

Cas shifts forward to accommodate Dean's silent request of  _ more, deeper.  _ He lowers his forehead to Dean's, moving his hands from his thighs up to cup his face. It feels right...like  _ home  _ to be buried inside Dean, and Cas lets out a deep sigh, closing his eyes. He gives a few shallow thrusts, just reveling in the feeling, caressing Dean's face with his hands. He’s been on edge since he left Dean, so ready to be with him like this that he knows it won’t be long before Dean’s tight channel will be milking his cock, and Cas  _ aches _ for it. He’s obsessed with the way Dean’s hole swallows him, obsessed with how much cum he can hold inside him, obsessed with the way he moans and begs, enraptured by the way his skin flushes and his eyes roll back when he’s being thoroughly fucked. He can’t get enough, and while there’s an alarm sounding vaguely in the back of his mind, he doesn’t care to listen.

Everything he does, he does it for Dean. That was always the case, wasn’t it? And Dean cares for him, and it feels better than Cas ever could’ve imagined. It’s more than he’s ever had from anyone else in all his years of existence. He needs to find Samael, needs to take in more souls...because his power is weakening, and without his power, he wouldn’t have Dean.

Cas knows for sure now...he can’t lose Dean. No matter what it takes.

Dean moans again, his breath hot against Cas’s lips, and Cas sinks his head lower, burying it in the crook of Dean’s neck as he thrusts hard. His arms move to loop under Dean’s and hold tightly to the tops of his shoulders, giving him good leverage to nail Dean’s prostate with each thrust. Dean’s cock is swollen and red, trapped between them and leaking against their stomachs, and Cas has the overwhelming urge to take it in his mouth, to worship it with his tongue. He decides against it, feeling too safe and comfortable wrapped in Dean’s warmth.

Cas lifts up and frames Dean’s head with his arms, their faces maybe an inch apart, Cas’s muted grace-lit eyes watching Dean with stark intensity. 

“You are absolute  _ sin _ ,” he says quietly, his voice low and sincere. “Such beauty and lust, Dean...enough to bring your God  _ to his knees _ …”

Dean feels like he’s drowning. Sinking into the depth of that powerful gaze, wrapped in everything that is Castiel as he’s dragged down into a blissful state of absolutely no control. He doesn’t fight it, he welcomes it and falls deeper down until it’s just him and Cas. 

He’s enthralled by his God, wants Cas surrounding him so he can soak him in. Wants to be wrapped up in those wings, strong and beautiful. Wants to feel Cas’s grace penetrate and lay claim, marking his body and soul. Dean can’t shake the need to be completely and totally possessed by Castiel, in every sense of the word. 

All of this runs through his head and he breathes heavily, wrapping his arms around Castiel to bring them closer. It still isn’t enough. No matter how much Cas gives him, Dean’s hunger is never sated. He burns to bring their lips together, to taste Cas on his tongue. Instead he turns his face to muzzle against Cas’s wrist, his eyes straying to the wings fanned above him. 

They’re spread, twitching and ruffling, grace pulsing through them with each thrust. Enchanting. Terrifying. 

He doesn’t have words for Castiel. Can’t possibly form sentences. So Dean pushes with his mind and hopes Cas understands, can read his jumbled thoughts and emotions, and know that Dean is his for the taking. 

“ _ Dean…”  _ Cas growls, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead to Dean's shoulder. He throws his weight behind each thrust, tightening his arms around Dean's shoulders. “ _ You're so beautiful… so perfect, perfect for me. You're mine, Dean… you belong… to me.” _

Cas’s voice is deep, guttural, vibrating, resonating with raw power. Despite the storm pounding against the window, Dean could hear it clearly. It’s in his head, drowning out everything except his devotion to his Master. He’s pressed so close to Castiel, he can feel his chest vibrating with each word. 

Each thrust rocks Dean’s body and has his toes curling. His mouth hangs open, head thrown back, as a stream of praises fall off his tongue. “Yours, yours, yours,” he whimpers weakly, clawing at Cas’s back, leaving red trails across the tan skin. “Only you, Cas...no one...no one else can have me-  _ fuuuuuuck _ yes right there,  _ oh god, Cas! _ ”

Dean is suddenly coming, thick jets landing between their bodies. He arches and groans, rubbing his spasming cock against Cas’s stomach.

_ “That’s it...beautiful… _ ” Cas praises, continuing his assault through the feel of Dean’s hole clenching wildly around his girth. A few more seconds has him coming too, pressing deep with a grunt and stilling as he pours himself into Dean. He continues to push, wanting to be as deep inside Dean as he can be as he releases wave after wave of his own seed into him, his cock twitching with it. He moves to press his forehead to Dean’s and begins running his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes with a moan as his orgasm finally comes to an end. He slides one hand down to rest on Dean’s slightly swollen belly, humming softly.

Dean shifts, grunting when Cas’s still hard cock twitches inside him, and blinks down his body. He exhales, his hand joining Cas’s and pressing down slightly. “Fuck,” he whispers, eyes widening. He can  _ feel _ it, and it’s the strangest and most erotic thing he’s ever felt. His whole body clenches, trying to lock it all inside. Dean groans, head falling back. He blindly reaches up, finding Cas’s hair and tugging gently.

“Master....” he breathes, licking his lips. He blinks and lifts his head to look Cas in the eye.

_ More. _

Cas groans and searches Dean’s face, his eyes flitting back and forth over his features, the hand in his hair moving slowly over his scalp.

“Tell me, Dean,” he whispers, dropping his head to nose at Dean’s jaw. “Tell me exactly what you want from me. I want to hear you say it.”

“I want…” Dean pauses, unsure of how he can say what it is he really wants. If Cas would even understand. He presses his hand down on his swollen belly and groans. “I want more of...everything. I want…” he licks his lips and gazes up at Cas, running a thumb just under his grace-lit eyes. “That. I want  _ you _ inside.” 

Cas lays a hand on the side of Dean’s neck and presses his lips softly to his jaw, moaning as he shifts to pull out. He rolls to the side and sits up, tapping Dean on his thigh.

“Come, Dean,” he commands, taking the hand over his stomach and giving it a small tug.

Dean whines, only a little, as he sits up. He absolutely does not want to move, but he can’t deny Cas anything. He huffs, watching Cas stand, and lets himself he tugged onto his feet. 

“You’re cruel,” Dean pouts slightly, leaning heavily on Cas. His body feels like it could flop over any second. 

Cas gives him a small smile as he runs his hands down Dean’s sides, then grips them tightly and turns him around, pushing his torso to the bed. He drapes himself over him, running his hands down Dean’s back and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the planes of muscle as he stands back up. His hands come to rest on Dean’s ass and he pulls slightly to reveal his slick hole, humming at the pleasure the sight of the swollen redness gives him. He lines himself

up and pushes in again, immediately sheathing himself fully inside with his hands tightly gripping Dean’s hips.

Dean growls and arches his back, clawing at the sheets below him. He closes his eyes and pushes back, forcing Cas’s swollen head against his prostate. He moans and rolls his hips, rubbing it against the spot over and over.

“So good,” Dean groans, his head falling forward. “You’re perfect. Cas, fuck, you feel so fucking good…” 

Cas huffs as he sets a quick pace, thighs slapping hard against Dean's backside, propelling him forward even as he pushes back. His nails bite into Dean's flesh and he watches as that beautiful pink blush creeps across his skin. He runs his hands up Dean’s back and forces his head down into the mattress, loving how beautifully the position arches his back. He swipes his other hand along Dean’s stomach and down to his half-hard cock, using Dean’s own cum to stroke wetly up and down his length.

“Such sin, Dean, letting me have you this way,” Cas grinds out, pumping his hips harder, faster. “Do you _ enjoy  _ sinning for your Master?”

Dean moans into the bed, biting down on the sheets and tugging with his teeth. Cas is thrusting so hard, so fast, that he can feel it all the way up his back and shoulders. Every thrust sends a pleasant vibration up his spine that has his fingers digging into the sheets. 

He’s able to just barely lift his head, panting heavily. “Yes, Master,” Dean breathes out, licking his lips. “I love sinning for you...love having that big cock inside. Love the way you fuck me, pound into me,  _ claim me.” _

Cas grunts brokenly as his second orgasm takes him by surprise, and he grips the nape of Dean’s neck tightly as he pumps yet more cum into him, his assault on Dean’s hole making wet and obscene sounds that only serve to spur him on. He thrusts roughly, broken Enochian phrases tumbling from his lips.

Beautiful enochian spoken in such a dirty way has Dean gasping and coming again, his cock kicking out whatever it has left onto his stomach and the bed. He moans, shattered, and drops his forehead to the mattress. He stares down his body, blinking at his even more swollen belly, and bites his lip. He wonders how much Cas has and if he can fit it all. He supposes that Cas can keep going…well, pretty much  _ infinitely _ if he uses his mojo. Dean also isn’t going to pretend that his body is capable of multiple orgasms this close together without said mojo, either. 

Cas pulls out slowly and admires Dean’s abused hole for a moment before swiftly flipping him back over to his back and resting both of his hands, fingers splayed, on Dean’s swollen belly, sliding his hands over the mess there. He bites his lip and groans softly, caressing Dean’s skin. 

“You are beautiful, Dean…” he whispers, eyes following his own hands across Dean’s body, “so...incredible. Tell me now, Dean...what do you want? What can I  _ give _ you?”

Dean’s face flushes even more than it already was and he tries to look away, but Cas grips his chin firmly and forces his gaze up. He can’t believe himself to be beautiful, but his Master won’t let him hide from the praise. So he huffs slightly and takes it. 

“I don’t want-“ he starts, but is cut off by a warning tightening on his chin. Cas can see the lie. Dean swallows and blinks down at himself. He knows what he wants, but is afraid to ask. 

“I...I want…” Dean sighs and looks up. “I want...a part of you. Your, uh...grace. I want..that.” 

Cas presses his lips together and cocks his head, watching Dean for a moment. He loosens his hold on Dean's chin and moves to sit on the bed, gesturing for Dean to come to him. 

Dean shifts slightly and winces at the soreness, but eventually pushes himself up and throws a leg over Cas’s lap. Cas takes hold of his hips and slowly lowers him back onto his cock, hissing slightly at how incredible Dean makes him feel. He wraps one arm around Dean's waist and grips his shoulder with his other hand, then moves it over to use a thumb to pull slightly at Dean's lower lip. 

“Open for me, Dean,” he says softly, his eyes beginning to shine dimly again with grace. 

Dean shivers, both from the intense eyes staring back at him and the cock sheathed so deeply inside him. He wraps his arms around Castiel’s neck, one hand tangling in that dark hair. Dean’s mouth falls open, eager and hungry, tongue pressing against his bottom lip just slightly. 

Cas moves the hand to cup Dean's cheek and parts his lips slightly as his thumb rubs across his cheekbone. After a second the ignited blue smoke-like substance begins to emerge from his throat, making his eyes glow brilliantly. It snakes slowly from between his lips, hovering momentarily in the small space between them. Cas forms a small ‘O’ with his lips and the grace pushes forward and begins to disappear between Dean's parted lips. 

Dean stiffens at first, hand tightening in Cas’s hair, muscles tense as the strange foreign substance slides across his tongue and down his throat. It tastes like...Cas. Like life. Pure energy, tingly and alive.. It’s incredibly warm and he can feel it all the way down.

Dean sighs, relaxing, and leans forward. He hardly notices that he presses their mouths together, his tongue pressing against Cas’s as he drinks in more. He’s marked now, his Master’s essence- the thing that makes him  _ other _ \- warming him from the inside out.

Cas stiffens against Dean, his thumb stopping the motion across his cheek. He moves to shift his hips slightly, which nudges the head of his cock against Dean's prostate and has both of them gasping. He pulls away and rests their foreheads together, dropping his hand back to Dean's shoulder.

Dean’s eyes fall shut and he knows nothing but the feeling of Cas everywhere. The feeling of his body heat, the saturation of his seed in Dean’s belly, the grace snaking its way through Dean’s body. It’s incredible, having a part of Castiel inside… something he could keep forever.

When it trickles to a stop, Dean closes his mouth and swallows. He breathes deep, his eyes blinking open. “Wow…” he shudders, digging his fingers into Cas’s scalp.

Cas pulls back some more, his hands moving to Dean's hips. He opens his eyes and clears his throat, licking his lips nervously. 

“Is… that what you wanted?” he asks softly, his expression unreadable. 

Dean nods slowly, tongue swiping over his lips. “Yes…” he whispers, searching Cas’s eyes. “Thank you, Master.” He shifts, his hand sliding down from Cas’s hair to his neck. “Was...that okay?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas responds, his tone somewhat resigned. “I want to be able to give you whatever you wish.” His eyes flit from Dean's gaze down to his lips and away quickly, his hands sliding back to rest again on Dean's swollen belly. 

Dean looks down and exhales sharply. His stomach is noticeably protruding now and the knowledge that it’s every bit Cas’s seed is incredible. He’s never felt so full, so fucked out, and he loves it.

“I can hold more, Master,” he says softly, glancing up at Cas. “I can hold all of you. However much you want to give me, I can take it.”

“Always so enthusiastic,” Cas smiles sadly, rubbing Dean's stomach gently. He licks his lips again and looks over at the door. “But I… I'm afraid I have something I need to attend to tonight.” He looks back at Dean, biting his lip.  “Perhaps you should bathe and go to bed, and I will be back as soon as I can.”

Dean blinks, freezing, and follows Cas’s gaze to the door. “Um…” He licks his lips, dread starting to tighten in his chest. He searches Cas’s face, but his Master won’t look at him. Those blue eyes, which had been glued to him just minutes before, were now bouncing around the room.

“Oh...okay,” He swallows thickly and moves off of Cas. He shifts away, curling in on himself slightly. He wants to hide and looks down at his naked body, suddenly feeling...  _ vulnerable _ .

Cas stands and dresses quietly, taking particular care in watching himself dress. He finally shrugs on his jacket and adjusts his tie, then leans across the bed, placing a gentle hand on Dean's thigh and stroking softly. 

“I will return soon, Dean,” he promises, “I'm...I would like… more of this.”

He gives a strained smile before disappearing right before Dean's eyes, the ghost of his touch still playing on his skin. 

_ Liar. _

Dean stumbles out of bed, stubbornly blinking past tears as he practically trips over himself getting to the bathroom.

He’s so stupid. So fucking stupid. He’d known from the beginning that Cas had just been playing nice. The soft words, letting him sit on the throne, inviting him to sleep in his bed. All fake. And Dean had fallen for it.

He makes it to the bathroom, heart pounding in his throat, head spinning with grief and anger. He falls to his knees roughly and doubles over, retching violently. He gasps, trying to breathe, even as he presses against his bloated stomach. He wants it  _ out _ . Every bit of it. The shame of having it inside is too much. It’s like poison, slowly killing him for every second it sits inside.

He desperately wonders  _ why? What did I do? _ He racks his brain, going over every detail, every word spoken. He chokes, his vision swimming briefly. 

He spends the next several minutes expelling all of it from his body, which is honestly the most undignified he’s ever felt, including the ways he let Cas fill him up to begin with. When his cramping stomach is blessedly flat, he pants as he drags himself to the showers. The water pours on him, scalding hot, and he sits beneath the spray until his skin is red and steaming.

Dean gets out and dries himself, limbs still shaking slightly. He quickly finds his clothes and dresses. He won’t stay here. He can’t. If he had a way to get out of Heaven he would. He’s almost desperate enough to find Dumah. She would be more than happy to kick him out, but she’d also probably drop him in the middle of the ocean. 

Dean looks around the room, itching to destroy as anger replaces his grief. He refrains, because really what’s the point? The shit just fixes itself anyway.

Without a backwards glance, Dean leaves and stomps off to...he doesn’t know. Not his room. Cas will find him there. Not the prison. Baraqiel isn’t good with emotions anymore than Cas is. He’ll just keep going, he decides, until he can’t anymore and crawl into whatever corner he can find.

\----

The hours tick by as Cas paces the garden, wearing footprints into the soft grass. The sky is an ominous shade of gray and the flowers blooming around him appear to wilt away from his proximity. He walks to the end of a particular wall of rose bushes and turns down the next, huffing in frustration. 

Suddenly he has everything he wanted, and now he's unsure. He can't even put his finger on why. Dean had given him everything he wanted, and he only asked for one thing in return… one thing Cas was more than willing to give. He just… didn't expect it to feel like it did. It felt like…

It  _ feels  _ like Dean has power over him now. 

And he does, in a way. Cas knows now that he won't let anything happen to Dean, no matter the cost. The realization that Dean is the most important thing to him now hits him hard, but he knows it's true. Perhaps that's what bothers him… knowing that Dean holding this power over him could jeopardize everything he's worked so hard for. 

He stops and scrubs a hand over his face, looking up at the sky. 

All this aside, Castiel can't afford to be weak. And Dean is a weakness. Perhaps a much larger one than he originally thought. 

And earlier… Cas squeezes his eyes shut at the memory. He let himself get too attached, too close, too intimate...led Dean to believe they could be something more… when they can't. Doing so will surely get him killed, and Castiel starkly realizes that he cannot handle that. 

He'll have to tell Dean… tell them that they can't be that way anymore, it's too much, it's too dangerous…

He opens his eyes and clenches his fists by his sides, giving a hard nod before making his way back inside. 

He opens his door quietly, expecting Dean to be asleep in the bed, but the room is empty. Cas steps inside quickly and looks around, outside on the balcony, in the bathroom…

There's a mess, puke and bile and a towel tossed to the floor… but no Dean. Cas’s breath hitches and he looks around worriedly before turning and heading out of the bathroom and back out of his bedroom, in search of wherever Dean has gone. 

Something is wrong, and Dean is gone. Something is wrong  _ with _ Dean. 

Cas tries not to panic as he strides quickly through the throne room and out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean…

Has no idea where he is.

He wakes, or becomes aware, slowly. And immediately regrets it as the pain (both physical and mental), shame, and just general crapiness all come back to him. He groans and rolls over, curling into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut. His stomach is not happy with him at all, cramping and rolling, threatening a second showing of what he did in the bathroom.

He keeps it down, mostly because there’s just nothing left in there, and breathes through his nose. Passing out did nothing to lessen the humiliation of...last night? A few hours before? Dean has no idea. He can barely remember stumbling wherever it is he’s stumbled into before conking out. 

Dean blinks and looks around blearily. His head is pounding, his mouth dry, his stomach clenching. He needs food, but he really doesn’t want it. Not to mention he has no idea where his room is, and he’s pretty sure it’s the only place in Heaven that _ has _ food.

Wherever he is, it’s very bright and sunny. He sits up slowly, vision swimming, and takes in the sight. It seems to be a park. All green grass, flowers, trees, and...some random dude flying a kite. Dean blinks and cocks his head to the side, watching the man with a blank expression, before it dawns on him. It’s someone’s personal Heaven. Each soul gets one, from what he understands. How he managed to find this one and slip inside is beyond Dean.

When he doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out again, Dean stands and glances around curiously. He needs to get out somehow, but all he sees is endless trees and grass. No doorway or anything that might indicate a way out. 

“Dean?!”

Dean whips around and almost falls on his ass for the effort. He steadies himself on a tree and frowns, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“Cael?” he rasps, then clears his throat. Fuck, he really needs some water. Cael looks haggard, stressed, his normally pressed and proper Angel Uniform wrinkled, shirt untucked and tie loose. 

“Dean, where - how did you get here?” Cael demands, striding towards him. He looks angry but relieved as he places a steadying hand on Dean's shoulder and gives him a once -over. 

“Hell if I know,” Dean grunts, blinking at the angel. “Just woke up here. I don’t remember much.” He grimaces and places a hand over his stomach. “Look, can we do this later? I need water and food...I have no idea how long I’ve been here, and I..hadn’t been feeling well before I got here.” 

Cael stares at him, dropping his hand back to his side. 

“Dean...Castiel has had all of us looking for you for hours. He's… worried. I've never seen him so…” he shakes his head and swallows hard. “You need to go to him.”

Dean shakes his head then squeezes his eyes shut from the pain. “I don’t need to do anything except eat. I don’t give a fuck how  _ worried _ Cas is.” 

He glares at Cael, though it’s weak and tired. “Get me to my room. Or show me the way.” 

Cael opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again and gives him a hard nod. 

“Very well, sir.”

Against Dean's weak protests, Cael wraps a supporting arm around his waist and teleports him to his room, sitting him in one of the chairs. 

He stands there, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, until Dean raises an eyebrow at him.

“I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I'll have to inform Castiel of your return.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I don’t care. Tell him whatever you want…” he grumbles as he pushes himself to his feet reluctantly to his feet and shuffles to the small kitchen area. He barely blinks when Cael leaves and starts rummaging through the cabinets. 

Soup maybe. With crackers. Light and easy. 

He makes a bowl and grabs a sleeve of crackers before plopping down at the small table. He eats slowly, uncaring of when Cas decides to show up and likely tear him a new one. 

Unwillingly, his mind drifts back to that bedroom. Goes over every detail, trying to pick where he went wrong. His spoon freezes halfway to his mouth when he recalls the grace. How he sucked it down, how he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Cas’s open mouth…

“Damn it,” he hisses, pushing his soup away. Dean growls and tugs at his hair roughly. That had to be it. Things got too  _ intimate  _ again and Cas freaked. 

Well, fuck it. Dean is done with this hot and cold shit. He  _ will not _ let this happen a third time. It doesn’t matter who Cas used to be. Doesn’t matter how nice he plays anymore. Dean is not going to be the  _ pet.  _

“Dean.”

Cas isn't there and then he is, looking tired and disheveled, his wings ruffled and twitching restlessly by his sides. He quickly closes the space between them and grabs Dean's shoulders, touching him along his arms, his torso, and finally his face, his eyes roaming his entire body. “Are you hurt?” he finally asks sternly, holding Dean's face between his hands, eyes fixed on Dean's. 

Dean wrenches his head away before he can stop himself. He flies out of his chair and takes a few steps away from Cas, still tingling from his touch. Anger boils in his chest. Was he hurt? Yes he was fucking  _ hurt _ . But it’s nothing Cas could- or would- fix. 

“Don’t-” Dean breathes slowly, chasing away the red in his vision, “touch me.” 

Cas frowns and drops his hands to his sides, standing up straight. He takes one step forward then stops again and rests a hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, keeping himself grounded there. 

His frown deepens as he cocks his head to the side and squints. Dean doesn’t appear to be physically hurt, but the grace Cas fed him is reacting to him in a very strange way, giving Cas a reading he doesn’t understand. 

“Are you...hurt?” Cas repeats again.

Dean clenches his fist, every part of him wanting to punch Cas in the face, but logically knowing that would only serve to break his hand. 

“I’m fine,” he grinds out, which is probably the biggest lie he’s told since he’s gotten here. He swipes up his half eaten bowl of soup and dumps it into the sink. 

“No,” Cas says firmly, his eyes following Dean to the sink and back. “No, you’re not.” He raises his head slightly, pressing his lips tightly together. 

Dean scoffs and rubs his hands over his face tiredly, his headache pounding behind his eyes. “What? Worried about your  _ whore _ being damaged?” he spits out, turning to glare at Cas. “Suddenly care now, Cas?”

“You-” Cas stops and closes his mouth again, letting a breath out through his nose. “That’s not- I told you not to pay attention to the filth that Dumah said-”

“You think this is about  _ Dumah _ ?” Dean asks incredulously. “I don’t need her to tell me what you’ve already done a good enough job of showing me all on your own.” He runs a rough hand through his hair and tugs anxiously. 

Cas looks like Dean has slapped him in the face, and honestly Dean’s feeling a little smug about that considering it typically takes a lot to get any kind of reaction out of Cas at all. His mouth gapes open for a minute before he tries to speak, only managing a few broken syllables before closing it again and looking down. Cas closes his eyes and takes a deep breath then looks back up, face composed once more. 

“Dean, you’re not my…” he looks away, clearing his throat and half nodding. “That’s...not what this is.”

Dean’s arm drops to his side and laughs, cold and humorless. “Really?” He takes a step forward, narrowing his eyes. “You fucked me out, used me up, then  _ left _ me sitting there. I was  _ alone _ and... and you just fucking disappeared. I-” Dean swallows and lays a hand on his now very flat stomach. “And you expected me to just...what? Lay there and wait for you with my legs spread?”

Cas’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and he drops his head, staring at the ground. “I just wanted to know you were safe. I didn’t…” he clears his throat, “what you’re saying, that’s not- I never intended for you to feel that way-”  
“ ‘Wanted to know if I was safe’?” Dean spits out, taking long strides forward until he was right in Castiel’s face. “So what did you _intend_? What exactly was I supposed to feel in that moment?” He snarls, heart hammering in his chest, muscles in his arms twitching. “I gave you... _everything_. All that I am, down to my very soul, I gave to you. I laid myself bare, I made myself vulnerable, _for you_. And all you’ve done is keep me...trapped here. I left my brother, my life behind. I’m _alone_. You used me and left me _alone_. I’m nothing but a fucking trophy to you. This is all I have now.”

Cas sets his jaw and fixes his eyes on a design in the marble of the floor. His wings twitch irritably every few seconds but he lets Dean finish, each word slicing through him, torture and punishment in its own way. He never meant for this to happen. It was never  _ supposed  _ to happen. 

“Dean…” when he finally speaks his voice is desperate and broken, and he clears his throat. He swallows and looks up, his eyes turned down slightly in the corners. He steels himself quickly, gritting his teeth.

“What exactly did you expect this would be, Dean?”

Dean open his mouth to say something, anything, but chokes on a sob that takes every bit of strength he has left to hold back. His eyes burn as he stumbles back a few steps, struggling to draw in breath as if dealt a physical blow to the gut. His face collapses, the anger that had been giving him strength all but gone, leaving nothing but the feeling of being completely shattered.

Dean’s hand shoots out to steady himself, gripping the back of a chair tightly. He leans on it heavily and looks down, breath coming in ragged bouts. He can feel that gaze on him, those cold eyes watching him come undone, and Dean hates it. He wishes, for the first time, that he’d never saved the bastard. He should’ve let him die, because this creature...this frigid, unfeeling  _ thing  _ was going to destroy the world. And it’s Dean’s fault.

“I…” Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. “ _ I loved you. _ ” He looks up at Cas, voice broken, defeated. “That’s...that’s why I found that spell. Why I  _ needed _ to save you. I couldn’t lose you...and you…” 

_ You destroyed me. _

Cas tries to remain stoic as Dean’s words echo loudly in his head. He steels himself, gripping the back of the chair until the whites of his knuckles shine through. He tears his eyes away from Dean’s face and stares over at the window, then closes them slowly, taking a deep breath before opening them again. He turns his gaze back to Dean, knowing he looks much more callous than he actually feels.

“For your sake, I regret my incapability to.. _.feel _ such emotion.”

Dean digs his fingers into the wood, his head spinning, and finally a few tears escape. He takes a shuddering breath.

“Get. Out.” he whispers harshly, turning bloodshot eyes to Cas. “ _ Get out!” _

Cas’s lips part before he presses them back together and looks down, pushing himself away from the table. He strides across the room and opens the door, giving one last glance at Dean over his shoulder before closing it behind him, the echo of the heavy stone breaking the tense silence.

\----

Cael really, honestly, is trying to listen. He shifts from foot to foot, fidgeting next to Dumah, who stands perfectly still and at ease. And of course she is. She’s practically radiating smug satisfaction.

Dean is sitting in a chair at the bottom of the steps. Again. And Cael is finding this increasingly...disturbing.

And it’s not just where Dean is sitting, or even  _ how _ he sits- slouched, tired, and gaunt. It’s how  _ absent _ he is. The body is there, but the mind has retreated. Cael watches as Dean stares blankly ahead, speaking to no one unless spoken to. Hardly a glance at anyone, especially Castiel. 

The first day they had found Dean in that chair, Dumah had practically jumped with joy. 

“So the whore has finally fallen out of favor,” she’d spat, smiling that cruel smile of hers. “You didn’t think he really cared, did you? That he wouldn’t get bored?”

Cael had held his breath, along with the other angels present, because the rows between Dean and Dumah were becoming quite the gossip.

But...Dean did nothing.

He simply sat and stared ahead, eyes bloodshot, body sagging. Not even a twitch. Cael had tentatively reached out with his grace, probing the human’s mind, and had found nothing. Utter blankness.

Cael didn’t pretend to understand human emotion, but even he knew this was bad.

The only good thing that had come out of that first day was how confused Dumah had been with the lack of reaction. Even disappointed. She spat a few more cruel words, but had gotten nothing out of him.

That had been almost a week ago. And still Dean sat, obedient but silent, and Cael wishes Castiel would  _ do _ something about it.

He sighs and shifts his focus back to Castiel, and the rest of the angels in the throne room. They’re being berated for not finding Samael and even Dumah in her smugness is shrinking back a little. Castiel’s anger is palpable and Cael fights the urge to wrap his wings around himself.

“Your only job this week- all of you- was to either find Samael yourselves or take turns interrogating the tracker, and we are no further now than we were when we began,” Cas chastises. “Do you really not have any news for me?”

He turns his gaze to Dumah, and Cael can practically see her shrinking under it.

She clears her throat nervously and looks up through her eyelashes, pulling absently at the hem of her jacket. 

“I’m confident I can break the tracker, Great One, if I could only have a little more time-”

Cas waves a dismissive hand and scrubs it down his face, sagging back in his chair. He’s physically tired, drained from the stress of the job, the genuine worry for Dean. He glances down at the chair briefly and sighs, then leans forward again and eyes the entire row of angels at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Leave us. All of you. And Dumah-” Cas refocuses his gaze on her, his features hard. “Back to work with the tracker. Tear him apart and piece him back together, should you need to.”

Dumah nods and throws Cael a look as they leave, and Cael holds the door open for the angels and shuts it behind himself with one last bow.

The silence is unbearably loud, and Cas starts to speak no less than a handful of times. It’s several minutes before he finally does, and he says the only thing that’s been on his mind for weeks.

“Dean.”

Dean blinks slowly and straightens in his chair. He turns to Cas, though his gaze is trained to the floor. He doesn’t look up at that face. He can’t. He’ll shatter all over again, and he’s just barely put himself back together. 

“Yes, Master,” he drones out, keeping his expression carefully blank. His mind an empty slate. He won’t let Cas see how much he broke him.

The sound of his voice causes a dull ache to bloom in Cas’s chest, but he pushes past it, getting to his feet and starting down the steps. Dean keeps his gaze averted and Cas is actually surprised by the fact that it doesn’t make him angry, only serves to give him the strong urge to touch him, to ground him back in reality with him.

He slows at the bottom of the steps and takes the last few as Dean turns back in his chair, then shuffles over slowly and kneels in front of it, his hands on either armrest as he looks up at Dean.

“Dean, look at me. Please.”

Dean’s jaw clenches and he grinds his teeth. The sludge in his mind clears away just enough for him to pointedly push himself against the back of the chair, trying to get as far away from Cas has possible.

“No,” he says roughly, the simple act of disobedience setting his heart pounding against his ribcage. 

“Dean, I c-” Cas’s words catch in his throat and he lowers his head, coughing once to clear it. He takes a deep breath before looking back up, his eyes searching Dean’s face. “Please, Dean, just- I have to tell you something, and I need you to look at me.”

“Why?” Dean closes his eyes, breath coming in short inhales. “So you can watch the pathetic human break down again? You get some perverse pleasure from it now? Just because I’m your whore doesn’t mean you get to tear me apart a second time. Once was enough.”

“You’re not-” Cas starts angrily, then clamps his mouth shut and sits back on his calves, defeated. He makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat and watches the side of Dean’s face, the set jaw and twitching muscle.

“I’ve arranged for you to visit your brother,” Cas says finally, standing back up and passing a hand through his hair from back to front, effectively making it stick out all directions. “You leave in a few hours.”

For the first time in a week, Dean’s head snaps to Cas and his eyes finally fall on that face. It’s tired looking. Ragged. His feathers are dull and twitchy, wings dragging slightly. A few of the feathers have fallen, black things on the floor by his feet. In all, Cas looks like crap, but Dean’s too focused on his words to care.

“...You’re letting me visit Sam,” he says slowly, as if saying it will change Cas’s mind. “I thought you said it was too dang-”

He stops. Takes a breath. He had thought this couldn’t hurt anymore. He was wrong.

“I see,” Dean stands and surprisingly strong legs, gaze once again downward. “I’ll just...get ready then.”

He brushes past Castiel, stepping quickly. So Cas is finally throwing him away. That’s fine. Perfect, actually. He’ll get Samael’s location and take him out before Raphael’s followers find him. And when they do…

Dean shakes his head and focuses on the present. He needs to get to Baraqiel and somehow convince him to give him the location before he leaves.

\----

Dean hears Dumah’s voice before he even rounds the corner to the cells, and by the sound of it, she’s taking Cas’s words to heart. The sounds Baraqiel is making are practically inhuman, and even despite him not actually being human, it’s definite cause for concern. Dean draws his own blade as he rounds the corner, forehead scrunched into a frown as he stalks down the hall.

Dumah sees him out of the corner of her eye and grins as she drops her hold on Baraqiel’s shirt in favor of pushing him roughly back into the cell, where he bonelessly falls to the floor. She turns to face Dean fully, gripping her own blade tightly.

“You’re looking better,” she taunts, “Castiel throw you a bone?”

“Can it,” Dean sneers and is pleased by the semi shocked expression on her face.“I’m taking over. Cas’s orders.”

“I’ve gotten him this far,” she argues, squaring her shoulders at him. “He’s bound to break soon, I know it. I can finish him. Besides, there’s nothing you can do to make him talk that I can’t do better.”

Dean smirks slightly. “You gonna start singing now? Anything you can do I can do better?” Dumah gives him a blank expression, though he does hear a broken chuckle from Baraqiel. Dean casts him a glance and tries not to feel like shit for allowing this to happen. For letting him stupid emotions get in the way of keeping harm away from one of the few decent angels he’s ever met.

“Doesn’t matter, Dumah,” Dean says, standing taller, his angel blade gleaming. “Cas says it’s my turn. You wanna disobey? Go ahead. Let’s see what happens.”

Dumah opens her mouth to argue but closes it again, huffing through her nose. She casts a glare into the cell and another back at Dean, then drops her combative stance and clicks her tongue. 

“Very well,” she grinds out, staring Dean down as she shoves past him and disappears down the hall.

Dean waits until the click of her heels fades then breathes out loudly. He pockets his blade and steps inside Baraqiel’s cell.

“Hey,” he says softly, kneeling beside him and helping him to sit up. He looks over Baraqiel, wincing in sympathy. Dumah did a number on him. It’s a miracle he’s even still conscious. “Damn it. I’m...I’m sorry, man. This is my fault. Things got...uh, complicated.”

“So I hear,” Baraqiel manages, coughing and waving a hand in the general direction of the hall. “She was practically celebrating. What did you do?”

“Let’s just say I’m not Cas’s favorite anymore,” Dean says bitterly. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time, Baraqiel. He’s sending me away and I’m...I don’t think I’m gonna make it back. I need to know Samael’s location now.”

Baraqiel swallows and nods solemnly. “Crawford, Texas. Coryell Memorial Hospital. He’s reaping souls there.”

Dean sighs in relief and nods. “Thank you, Baraqiel.” He glances behind his shoulder and looks back at him. “Hey. Don’t think I’m just leaving you here. I, uh...got a friend who is gonna come get you in about fifteen minutes. He’s gonna get you out.”

Baraqiel grabs Dean’s wrist and squeezes, looking up at him with eyes almost swollen shut, his lip cracked and bleeding.

“Thank you, Dean. Just...thank you.”

Dean swallows and nods, anxiety gripping his chest. It’d be a miracle if any of this works, but at least he’s giving Baraqiel a fighting chance. 

“I gotta go, buddy,” Dean stands after giving Baraqiel’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You make it out, go get high for me.”

With one last glance at his sort of friend, Dean leaves for his room. He doesn’t exactly have packing to do, but he needs to wrap his brain around all of this. Cas is tossing him to the wolves, knowingly, and that just...hurts all sorts of ways. He’s never going to see Baraqiel again, and his last moments were either going to be fighting Samael or dying by Raphael’s followers. And he has to wonder where his soul is going to end up once he’s dead.

\----

They land uncharacteristically roughly in Bobby’s front yard, the dry dirt kicking up in a dusty cloud around them. Cas actually seems a little out of breath from the entire thing, or perhaps it’s just the dust itself getting into his lungs, or even Dean’s imagination playing tricks on him. But the bags under Cas’s eyes are definitely darker, Dean is sure of it, and his wings are looking less lustrous by the day; he even noticed a small bald spot at the bottom of his right one the day before.

Cas drops his hand back to his side and stares ahead at the shabby house, pressing his lips together, his eyebrows drawn. 

“I’ll be back for you in two days’ time,” he says blandly, finally turning to look at Dean.

Dean, despite his better judgement, takes a moment to look at Cas. He tries to remember his angel, the one who broke lines and sided with Dean against his own kind. Against everything he’d known. The one Dean still loves because he’s a masochistic dumbass.

“Fine,” he says, inclining his head slightly. Two days. Right. Cas has no intention in coming back. Dean hesitates then says in a softer tone, “Thank you.” Whatever reason Cas has to leave him here, Dean is still getting a chance to see Sam and Bobby before shit goes down. 

Cas’s fingers twitch at his sides and he raises his hand slightly, inclining it in Dean’s direction, but he clenches his fist and lowers it back to his side, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Please be safe, Dean,” Cas says quietly, letting his eyes fall back on the house. “Promise me you can do that, for two days.”

“Yeah, sure, Cas…” Dean shrugs, waving his arm as he begins walking towards the house. “See you in two days.”

He blinks as the wind rustles behind him, kicking up dust, and sighs. His steps falter, but he keeps going. Holds his head high. Cas is gone and that’s fine. He’s on his own now. Hopefully he can last long enough to take out Samael. At least then he can leave a somewhat intact world for Sam and Bobby to live in.

He smiles as he spots Baby parked off to the side. Dean takes a moment to admire her and nods in approval at her pristine condition. Sammy’s been taking care of her.

With a roll of his shoulders, Dean comes to the front door and knocks. He hears shuffling after a moment, just behind the door, and he smiles widely when he realizes that either Bobby or Sam is looking at him through the peephole. It's Sam's muffled voice that comes from behind the door. 

“ _ Dean _ ?!”

The door is yanked open and there Sam stands, perhaps a little leaner than when he left, his hair sticking out in all directions, and his face in need of a serious shave.

Dean coughs back a laugh and cocks his head slightly, a smirk pulling on his lips.

“Heya Sammy…” He pauses and presses his lips together in another wide grin. “You, uh...well, you look like crap.” Sam surges forward and envelops him in a hug that knocks the wind out of him, and he huffs and returns it.

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

_ Neither did I, _ Dean thinks, but he only clears his throat in response. He pulls away and claps Sam on the shoulder, squeezing past him through the door. He looks around and breathes in the musty, dust-filled air that smelled of stale, cheap whiskey. Ah, home.

“The hell you been, boy?!”

Dean grins and looks over to see Bobby trumping down the stairs.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Bobby comes to stop in front of him, eyes blazing with surprising sobriety. “You take off on us-”

Dean nods absently, taking in the old baseball cap and gray hairs.

“With no warning, no note-”

The scraggly beard, the faded shirt with an ancient flannel thrown over it.

“Silent, for  _ weeks _ , and then we get that- that letter-”

The oil stain jeans and scuffed up boots.

“Which was so full of crap it coulda clogged the toilet-”

“Bobby,” Dean says softly.

“What?!” Bobby huffs, cheeks red from yelling.

“...I missed you, too.”

Bobby purses his lips and grumbles under his breath, and Dean knows he heard ‘idgit’ in there somewhere. He stomps off to the kitchen, leaving Dean with Sam staring at him incredulously. Dean sighs and shrugs, arms flopping on his sides.

“Okay, c’mon,” Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Let’s hear it.”

Sam presses his lips together and shakes his head slightly, then holds out his massive arms and pulls Dean into another bone-crushing hug. When he finally pulls away he claps him on the back, almost looking like he's holding back tears. 

“So… what? Cas, he just let you come back?”

Dean shrugs and looks away, rubbing his palm over his stubble. “Ah, yeah...looks that way,” he says, looking back at Sam. “I’m not really questioning it. It’s nice to be back on Earth. Heaven kind of sucks.”

Dean takes in Sam’s appearance again and shakes his head. “Seriously, man, you look like hell.”

Sam snorts a laugh. “Yeah, well. It's been a rough couple of months.” He looks Dean up and down and gestures vaguely, then lets his arm fall back to his side. “Although I could say the same about you...Cas not let you eat up there? Or… shower?”

Dean looks down at himself and grunts. “Yeah, well...like you said. Rough couple of months.” Together they follow after Bobby into the kitchen. Bobby hands them both a beer without a word and all three sat down at the rickety old table by the window. 

“Alright, boy,” Bobby raises a brow. “Spill it. What happened?”

“I told you everything in the letter,” Dean says pointedly, eyes dancing around. He doesn’t think Cas has anyone tailing him. Still...doesn’t hurt to be careful. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. I didn’t want to get you two mixed up in it.”

Bobby frowns deeply, watching Dean carefully, then nods slowly. “Okay...well, as long as you’re...okay?” 

Dean clears his throat and nods. “Ah, yeah...I’m..fine.” He smiles tightly, which he knows Bobby and Sam don’t buy, but he isn’t going to spend these moments talking about Cas and the shit show that is Heaven politics.

Sam eyes him skeptically and trades a glance with Bobby. 

“Dean…” he starts slowly, frowning and clearing his throat. “We all know that letter was full of crap. We deserve to know what's really going on.” 

“Damn it,” Dean hisses, casting a glance out the window. He doesn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean anything. Cas proved to them all that angels can be right there and a human would never know.

“Look,” he shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t want to do this now, okay? I don’t have...he only gave me two days. I’d rather not spend it talking about all that crap back in Heaven. Can you just...let me be here?”

“Okay,” Sam concedes quickly, nodding his head. “Yeah, okay. So… two days, huh? Then what? You stay there another few months before we get to see you again?”

Dean shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. He hasn’t had the stuff since he first got to Heaven. It doesn’t taste as good as he remembers. 

“I don’t know, man,” he says honestly. “Cas is...hard to read. The offer to let me come see you came out of the blue. I have no idea when or even  _ if _ he’ll extend it again.”

He knee jumps up and down, eyes once again glancing out the window. How long will it take for Raphael’s followers to find him? 

“How’s it been down here?” Dean asks, frowning slightly. 

“Well Cas, he… well he killed a lot of people, you know? So it hasn't exactly been great.” Sam frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I…suppose you knew that.”

Dean sighs and leans back in his chair. “Yeah, I know. I stopped what I could...believe me. It could’ve been worse.”

“Well that’s comforting,” Bobby mutters sarcastically.

Dean stiffens, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, I did what I could-”

“Whoa, take it easy,” Bobby holds up his hands. “I wasn’t meanin’ nothin’ by it. I just...this whole thing sucks balls, boy.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean says, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m a little wound up. Living up there all this time wasn’t exactly a picnic. Kept me on edge.”

Sam purses his lips and breathes out through his nose, then pulls out a chair and sits across from Dean. He fiddles with the neck of his own bottle before pressing his palm to the table and looking back up at Dean. 

“We've run out of ideas, Dean. We don't know what to do about... _ Godstiel _ .” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then frowns and cocks his head. “I thought his vessel was failing months ago. How… how is he even still walking and talking?”

Dean bites his lip and shifts in his chair, taking a long swig of his beer. “Yeah, I…” he sighs and rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t want to lie. But he also doesn’t want  _ this _ to be his last conversation with his little brother. He can’t face their disappointment. Not after having his heart broken so completely.

“I don’t really know the details,” Dean shakes his head, playing with the lip of his bottle. “But, yeah, apparently he tracked down some spell to restore it or something. But...I don’t think it’s going to last. He hasn’t been looking good the last few weeks…” he swallows, his chest aching. “I don’t think you’ll have to do anything. His vessel is failing. Slowly, but...surely.” 

“Well, but… that's good, right?” Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean, then looks up at Bobby. “I mean…” he looks back at Dean, “he's not  _ Cas _ anymore. Not really.”

Dean nods and looks way, grip tightening on his beer. “No, yeah...it’s good. Good news.”

Bobby squints at Dean, who pointedly ignores him as he nurses his beer. 

“Dean…” Bobby says softly, or as softly as the man can. “I know he was...a friend, but the guy’s gone nuclear. He’s not Cas anymore.”

“I know,” Dean bites out. “You don’t have to remind me. Been living with the guy, remember?”

“Alright, alright,” Bobby sighs. “Let’s just...not talk about this. You’re only here for two days. We can...hang out, or whatever you kids call it now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but smiles slightly. “Yeah, Bobby...sounds good.”


	11. Chapter 11

Cas sags tiredly into the throne, propping an elbow up on the armrest and rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Teleporting Dean to Bobby’s took more out of him than it rightfully should have; so much so that Cas had spent the last few hours since returning holed up in his room with directions to the angels to not be disturbed. He doesn’t want them to see weakness, and he’s definitely feeling...very weak.

Not to mention the dread he feels hanging over him from leaving Dean unattended on earth. He certainly didn’t expect that to impact him as much as it is.

The doors burst open and Dumah strides in proudly, stopping at the foot of the steps and smiling widely with her hands clasped behind her back, looking up at Castiel. 

“Sir?”

Cas groans and drops his hand, looking down at her irritably. “ _ What, _ Dumah? What now?”

“In your absence we had breach in security...and the prisoner attempted escape. We were able to apprehend both the prisoner and the one responsible for assisting him.”

Cas slowly straightens in his seat. “Who?”

Dumah licks her lips and swallows. “It was Cael, sir.”

Cas takes a deep breath and lets it out, leaning back again, looking around the room. “Where are they now?”

“They’re both in cells, sir.”

Cas nods incredulously and waves a dismissive hand. “Yes, thank you, Dumah. Have someone watching the cells at all times until further notice, please. That will be all.”

Dumah opens her mouth to speak but closes it again and nods instead, turning on her heel and leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

\----

“Scooby Doo, Dean? Really?”

“Hey,” Dean cracks open another beer and lounges on the ancient couch in Bobby’s living room. “It’s a good show. And I didn’t exactly get to watch a lot of television up there. Too busy tryin’ to keep Cas from killing everyone.”

Bobby scoffs and frowns at the beer in Dean’s hands. “That was the last one, meathead. Coulda at least paced yourself a little.”

“I’ll get you more, old man, calm down. Missed driving anyway. Speaking of which, Sammy you better have been taking care of my Baby. None of that cheap gas.”

“She eats better than I do,” Sam deadpans, gesturing to him with his own beer. “You want some company?”

Dean thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah...need some quality time with my Baby. With you in there I can’t blast the music like I like.”

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes, but settles back into the sofa and crosses one foot over the other. He lifts up enough to shove his hand in his pocket and produce a set of keys, tossing them over to Dean.

“I’m actually glad I don’t have to witness this particular reunion.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he catches the keys. “You know what? That’s fine, cuz we don’t want you there anyway.” He stands and sets down his half empty beer. “You’d ruin the special moment.”

He smirks at Sam’s snort and claps him on his giant shoulder as he walks by.

“Bring more than just enough for you!” Bobby calls out, earning him a middle finger as the front door slams shut.

Dean carefully unlocks the driver’s door and slides inside with a sigh. He sits there for a moment, taking in the smell of leather, the feel of the steering wheel, the sight of that big, black hood. He grins and starts her up, nodding his approval when the engine roars.

“Miss me, Baby?” He pats the dashboard, buckles in, then peels out of the driveway with ‘Back in Black’ blasting through the speakers.

\----

Cas is making his way down the hall the next time Dumah finds him. He’s not even sure exactly where he’s going or what he’s doing, but he vaguely recognizes this particular hall to be the one on which Dean’s room resides just as Dumah begins to speak.

“Sir, I have urgent news.”

Cas sighs and cuts his eyes at her, but allows her to fall in step with him as he takes a sharp turn down a hallway perpendicular to Dean’s bedroom as he wills himself not to even spare the door a glance.

“Something other than bad news for once, I hope.”

Dumah smiles smugly and nods. “Yes, sir. I discovered the location of Samael.”

Cas stops suddenly, eyes widening as he turns to face her. “You were able to finally break the tracker?”

She presses her lips together but her eyes sparkle knowingly. “Not exactly. But the Winchester...sir, I’m sorry, but he intends to betray you. He had the tracker tell him Samael’s whereabouts before you took him back to earth, and he did not disclose that information with you. I overheard them as they spoke of this.”

“That’s-” Cas wants to say _ impossible _ , but was it, really? He’d kept Dean here for months, making it clear over and over that the most important thing to him was his mission, his power. Dean isn’t stupid, not even a little, and it’s obvious now that he knew about the souls… and was now doing what he could to stop Cas. To betray him, to essentially sign his death certificate. 

“No,” he finally manages, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No, Dean, he- he wouldn’t do that.”

“But he did,” Dumah urges, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his forearm. “He was playing a part, Castiel. He pretended to serve you and love you, but it was all an act. It was all part of his plan to remove you from power.”

Cas frowns down at her and shrugs her off, turning and starting back the direction he came, but she follows, heels clicking on the marble floor.

“Master,” she pleads desperately, “we must go now. We must find Samael before Dean does.”

Cas takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand down his face, nodding slightly.

“Yes, very well. Assemble everyone we can spare.”

Dumah tries and fails to hide her giddiness, uttering an excited “very good, sir” before practically sprinting in the opposite direction.

Cas step falters slightly once she’s gone and he takes a steadying breath, his mind racing. All of his time with Dean, all the things they did and all the things that Dean had said, it was all a lie. And Cas fell for it. And now Dean was plotting against him, probably on the way now to kill his only hope of staying alive. He shakes his head and picks up his pace, finally reaching the throne room once more and bursting through the doors.

\----

With several cases of hunter’s helper in the passenger seat and his tape blasting, Dean flies down the road and sings badly to the music. He’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, bobbing his head. One second, it’s open road. The next, Dean is slamming on his breaks to avoid hitting the three angels that have suddenly appeared in front of him, blades drawn. 

Baby comes to a stop with a jerk and Dean curses. They found him fast. Too fast. 

Slowly, Dean steps out, his own blade in his hand.

“Didn’t expect to see you dicks so fast,” he tilts his head, eyeing the three. He stiffens when he feels a gust of wind behind him and glances over his shoulder. Five more. Shit.

“Little birdie told us where you were,” one of them answers.

“Ah...of course,” Dean’s heart hammers. He doesn’t want to believe it was Cas. It actually doesn’t make much sense. His bet was Dumah...maybe even Cael.

Either way, he’s screwed. Three angels? Pushing it. Eight? No way. They were going to take him in seconds.

He grips his blade. Maybe he can at least take a few with him. As the three in front begin to approach, Dean considers praying to Cas. But Cas had left him here, knowing this would probably happen. The prayer would go unanswered.

The skirmish, if one call it that, doesn’t take long. Dean is good, but angels are stronger. He manages to kill one- nope, make that two, he smirks as he buries his blade in one of their necks- before he feels a hard blow to the back of his head.

Before he succumbs to darkness, despite knowing Cas wouldn’t come, Dean sends up a desperate plea.

_ Cas!!! _

\----

Cas cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders back, watching as the angels gather in front of him, readying themselves for their journey. He pulls out his own angel blade and examines it closely before spinning it once in his palm and placing it back in its spot inside his jacket, the usually unnoticed weight of it settling heavily against his side. 

Dean had only been on earth for approximately five hours their time, and Dean of course would take this sort of mission very seriously, so Cas figures it’s safe to assume that he would have left in the Impala as soon as he thought it safe to do so. It would only take an average person just under fourteen hours to get from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to Samael’s location in Crawford, Texas...so easily less than twelve for Dean.

Dumah has assembled twenty angels for the trip, some Castiel recognizes, and others he doesn’t. He’s sure he’s seen them around at some point or another, but he can’t remember for sure, and he can’t find it in him to care. If he was feeling a little more confidently about his abilities, he wouldn’t have them accompanying him at all, but now it’s a necessary inconvenience.

He paces from one end of the assembled row of angels to the other as they ready themselves, his hands twitching with anticipation. He nods at Haniel at the end of the row and turns again, stopping just at the bottom of the steps to the throne. He looks up, the image of Dean by his side flashing before his eyes as if he’d been watching it all happen. He blinks and it disappears again, and he’s forced to face the reality that Dean has betrayed him, that he had just bided his time until he was able to get away. That, in all likelihood, he never cared for him at all. 

The realization hits Cas harder than he expects it to.

He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth and clenches his jaw, turning back to the angels. He opens his mouth to give them their orders when he hears it, so clear he could swear it was in the very same room.

Dean, calling his name. _ Praying _ to him. Voice desperate, pleading.

Cas freezes and closes his eyes, dropping his head to his hands and listening intently for something, anything, that may give him an idea of what was happening. There’s nothing but silence...and flashes of the Impala, a dirt road, and a dusty sign that reads Route 10.

“Master?”

Dumah’s voice is muffled and sounds very far away, and it’s not until he feels her hand on his arm that he’s dragged back to the present. He blinks wildly, mouth slightly agape as he pants with the effort of trying to reach out into Dean’s mind. 

“I- I have to go.”

Dumah’s brow furrows and she shakes her head slightly, voice cracking as she speaks: “No...no, Castiel. We do not have time. We need to find Samael now. This is what you’ve been waiting for, sir, with all due respect-”  
Cas shakes his head and tries again to reach out to Dean, trying to hone in on the small bit of his grace resonating inside him. It’s not much, but if Castiel could push just a little harder, focus all his energy to it, it could help him find Dean’s location. 

He shrugs Dumah off again, a little more forcefully than necessary.

“ _ I have to go,”  _ he bites out again, and he disappears before she, or anyone else, for that matter, has the chance to object.

He appears again on the old dirt road just beside the Route 10 sign, the Impala just up ahead in the distance. Cas’s breath leaves him in a huff and he takes off, trench billowing behind him, not slowing until he reaches the old car. The driver’s side door is ajar and the bodies of two angels are laying in the road, the angel blade that likely killed them both covered in blood and dirt cast just off to the side. Castiel recognizes them as Eremiel and Anael… two of Raphael’s followers. 

He steps around them to move to the front of the car, dragging his hand down the shiny metal. The engine is barely warm.

He vaguely realizes that he was wrong, that Dean is nowhere near the town that Dumah claims Samael is residing in, but he pushes the thought aside. What’s important now is finding Dean...everything else can wait.

He closes his eyes again and focuses on that small piece of grace, pulling at it like a magnet, working to vibrate the essence inside of Dean to track the resonation. It’s faint at first, barely there, but it begins to build quickly, and Cas feels his own grace attempt to reach out and reconnect, building,  _ building _ …

And then it’s gone.

Cas opens his eyes and presses both hands to the top of the car, chest heaving. He looks around worriedly, turns and looks down the long, empty road, turns again, clenching his jaw as he glares down at the lifeless bodies on the ground.

For the first time in a really long time, Castiel feels utterly helpless.

\----

“Hold him  _ down _ !”

Dean fights the unnaturally strong hold on his arms and legs, snarling and biting at whatever or whoever was nearby. It made little difference. He’s pinned down, each limb taken by a douchebag angel. He growls and turns his head, clamping his teeth down an arm.

“Damn it! Gag him!”

A foul-tasting, shit-smelling piece of cloth is tied across his face, digging into his mouth, effectively muffling his cries. 

His shirt is ripped away and he jerks when he sees a knife, renewing his struggles even though it’s only serving to tire him out. But he’s Dean fucking Winchester and doesn’t go down without a fight.

The weapon slices through his skin and he screams into the cloth as the angel who seems to be in charge starts carving symbols into his torso. They’re Enochian, but that’s all Dean can discern through the pain.

He sends more desperate prayers to Cas, practically screaming his name, but it’s futile. Either Cas isn’t answering or he can’t hear him.

“Shut up already,” one of the angels spits. He has a crooked nose, a receding hairline, and watery eyes. “He’s not going to hear you.”

Dean ignores Ugly and tries to tug an arm free, but it’s weak. He’s tired and losing blood. He takes a breath through his nose and stills, willing himself to calm down. He won’t get out of this with strength alone. Wearing himself out is only going to make this harder. Dean gives the angel a withering glare and sighs when the knife is finally pulled away.

“There,” the angel says with a smirk. “No one is finding you now.”

Dean looks down at the warding carved into his skin and has a brief flash of panic. If Cas or Sam can’t track him, then he really is alone in this.

\----

“Bobby, he’s been gone for too long.”

Bobby sighs from the passenger seat of his beat up El Camino. “Sam, he’s probably just sidetracked with some girl. I mean, he’s been up in Heaven for  _ months _ . Boy’s bound to be a little...pent up.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Okay, just...gross. Also, no. Something’s up. He wouldn’t- oh man…” 

Sam trails off and and Bobby can see why. The impala is in the middle of the street, door open, with two bodies beside it.

“Damn it,” Bobby says the car comes to a stop. They both get out and do a quick look around.

“He musta been taken,” Bobby sighs and adjusts his hat.

“Yeah, but why?” Sam’s eyebrows furrow as he checks over the dead angels. His shoes scuff up the ashes of the burnt wings. “And how? You’d think Cas would have put some kind of protection spell on him or something…”

Bobby shrugs. “I don’t think the why and how matter now. We need to figure out the who and where.”

“Well I recognize this one,” Sam straightens. “He’s a follower of Raphael.”

“Oh, goody,” Bobby grumbles. “More angel politics crap.”

“Looks like. So what do you think?” Sam asks, looking around the empty road. “Think Cas knows? Should we...call him?”

Bobby shrugs. “I don’t know. Dean was so jumpy about Cas...for all we know, Cas is behind this.”

Sam nods slowly, rubbing his hand against his stubble. “Okay, so...what other choice do we have?”

Bobby sighs and looks down. “...Beats me. We ain’t got the first clue where these guys are holed up.”

“We’ll find them,” Sam says firmly, already bending to grab one of the bodies. “Let’s get these two and the car back. We’ll go from there.”

\----

It’s a last ditch effort.

But Castiel is desperate, and he doesn’t know who else to turn to. Dean should’ve been warded from all angels...Cas had made sure of that years ago, but he’d been found regardless. So one of Castiel’s own, someone who knew his location, had tipped off Raphael’s people.

Cas would make sure to figure out who later, but his priority now is speaking to the one angel who is still able to track Dean regardless of his warding:

Baraqiel.

Cas raps quietly on the bars of the cell, giving a quick look around.

“Hey. Get up.”

Baraqiel groans and lifts his head from where he lay on the stone bench, one of his eyes completely swollen shut. When he sees Castiel he scoffs and lays back down, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can, boss. Your last henchman did a pretty good job of trying to prevent that completely.”

Cas scowls and grips the bars tightly, resting his face between them, gritting his teeth as he speaks. “Enough of this. I need your help.”

“My  _ help _ ?!” Baraqiel asks incredulously, dropping his arm to his stomach and looking over at him. “You have kept me against my will for months, had me beaten and tortured, and now you want my help? Why would I even consider that?”

“Because…” Cas licks his lips and looks down, breathing out through his nose. He gives a side glance to the hallway which is blessedly empty, then looks back up at Baraqiel. “Because Dean is in trouble.”

Baraqiel perks a little at that, pushing himself up and swinging his legs off the bench. 

“Why would I-”

“Save it, please,” Cas says impatiently, waving a dismissive hand. “I know that you spent time speaking with him. I know he...considers you a friend.”

Baraqiel closes his mouth and blinks, dropping his head and fidgeting his hands in his lap. 

“Now,” Cas says sternly, “Dean has been captured. I need you to help me find him. And in return…”  he brandishes the keys to the cell and holds them up, “I will release you.”

Baraqiel stands and crosses the cell, features hard and unreadable as he presses his face to the bars.

“I’ll find him. You make sure you get to him before anything happens.”

“I hope I do get there before anything happens...for their sake,” Cas growls, shoving the key into the lock and watching the warding crackle and dissipate as the door is unlocked. He swings it open, standing to the side as Baraqiel hobbles through. They take off down the hall, Cas only pausing momentarily two cells down to throw Cael the set of keys, giving him a hard nod then falling in step behind Baraqiel.

“I’ll need something close to him...something that means a lot to him, or...something he loves…” Baraqiel speaks as they round the corner from the cells. He stops momentarily, squinting at the brightness of the hall. “Where’s his room? His belongings?”

“Are you not able to track him without that? He...I just...I don’t know if he...has anything l _ ike that _ ...here.” Cas begins walking hurriedly in the direction of Dean’s room, trying to think of anything that Dean may have here that would constitute as useful, but he comes up blank.

“I can, but it takes a lot longer. Especially if he’s been warded, which I assume he has?” Baraqiel raises an eyebrow, and Cas gives him a curt nod. “It’d take days, even. Time we don’t have.”

They reach Dean’s room and Castiel lets them inside, and they both scour the area for anything that can be used. Cas shuffles through his drawers, checks under the bed, in the pillows, mattress...nothing. Baraqiel searches too, tossing couch cushions and rifling through the kitchen. 

Cas looks down at the empty bed and tries to imagine Dean...back here with him, safe, solid and warm. He closes his eyes and swallows hard, trying to push it away. Even if he saves him, he knows Dean doesn’t want that anymore. 

“My grace,” Cas says suddenly, spinning around and taking a few steps toward a bewildered Baraqiel. “Dean...he has a part of my grace. Can you use that?”

Baraqiel frowns and hums, cocking his head and walking over, letting a hand hover over Castiel’s chest. He lays the palm flat on Cas’s skin and Cas grits his teeth; it’s not exactly comfortable, an intrusive feeling, his own grace tumbling and burning beneath his skin. 

Cas doesn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until Baraqiel pulls away, giving him a sly grin.

“Yes, I can use this. I can find him.” 

Cas breathes a sigh of relief, rolling his shoulders back to relax them, his wings twitching nervously at his sides.

Baraqiel nods sincerely, biting his lip. “It will be painful for you, in the time it takes me to locate him this way.”

“Yes,” Cas nods immediately, unbuttoning the top of his shirt so Baraqiel can better reach. “Yes, that’s fine. I want you to do whatever it takes. Please. Right away.”

Baraqiel gives another solemn nod and reaches up, hesitating only slightly before pressing his lips into a thin line and his hand back to Castiel’s chest.

\----

Dean works his already torn and bloody fingers over the screw, gritting through the pain. It’s difficult enough with his hands cuffed behind him, but the screw is rusty and old. In fact, the cell he’s in is easily over fifty years old, if not more. Everything around him is in decay. Bars are rusty, brick walls are collapsing, and some of the ceiling has caved in. From the looks of it, Dean is being held in a very old, very abandoned prison. He has no idea where, of course. His cell doesn’t even have a window. It’s nothing but old brick wall and cell bars. 

He grunts and shifts, leaning back against the rusty old cot as he works desperately to free the only screw that was even semi loose. It’s slow going and tearing his hands up, but his whole body hurts anyway. These angels watching him are easily bored and their favorite pastime is torturing their human captive.

Dean wishes he knew how long he’s been here. They took everything he had on him, including his watch. Minutes, hours, he didn’t know.

Dean stiffens when he hears footsteps and shifts again, his hands freezing. Ugly comes into view and sneers down at him. Dean twitches, but doesn’t meet his gaze and keeps his eyes blankly on the wall in front of him. Ugly is easily provoked, he’s discovered, and is the cause of most of Dean’s injuries. 

“Ready to talk?” the angels growls out.

Dean grits his teeth. “I’ve already told you, he doesn’t have a weakness. You got wax in your ears?”

“ _ You’re _ his weakness,” Ugly hisses back.

Dean snorts a cold laugh. “Your intel is old. I fell out of favor a long time ago. Castiel has no weakness. There’s no weapon that can hurt him.”

“We know you’re his favorite,” Ugly smiles. “He’ll run himself ragged looking for you. Don’t get your hopes up, though. That warding in your skin hides you from everyone.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Dean barks.

The angel just smiles and saunters away, his footsteps fading. Dean waits a breath then wraps his bloody fingers around the head of the screw, grinding his teeth as he starts twisting again.

Finally, when Dean’s head is spinning and he’s ready to pass out- whether from lack of food or from the pain- the screw pops free. He holds his breath, steadying himself, and carefully flips it over. He swallows and closes his eyes, concentrating, working the sharp end into his handcuffs. It takes a while, the screw dull from years of rusting, but eventually Dean hears a faint click.

He sighs and twists his arm around, quickly working the other end. Once they’re off, he pockets them. Dean shifts to the cell bars and looks out, listening for anything. The hall is dark, lit by only a few sad light bulbs. He doesn’t see anyone, hears no footsteps.

With a grunt, Dean leans back against the brick wall and lifts up his ruined shirt. His cuts are open and festering. Can’t think about that, though. Only way to break any warding is to destroy the sigils. So Dean bites down on his shirt, takes his screw, and starts carving. 

\----

When Ugly comes strolling back, he comes to a stop to see Dean slouched against the wall. Ugly raps on the bars, frowning.

“Hey. Wake up.”

Nothing.

“Damn it, I said wake up!”

Dean doesn’t stir.

Ugly curses and fishes out his keys, opening the cell doors and stepping inside. He kneels in front of Dean, reaching out to check a pulse. In an instant, Dean’s eyes pop open and he surges forward. Ugly cries out and falls over in surprise. Dean is on him in a flash. The angel brandishes his blade and moves to strike, but Dean’s desperation makes him quicker. He ducks, jabs the angel’s wrist with the screw and presses down hard. Ugly hisses in pain and his grip on the blade loosens, and Dean grabs for it. Before the angel can even react, his own blade is running through his chest. There’s a flash of light, then his body slumps, ashes of his wings spread across the floor.

Breathing heavily, Dean stands wobbily and stumbled out of the cell. The others would have felt that. He needs a place to hide. He doesn’t have the strength to take on anymore angels. Even now, his vision is swimming, darkness threatening to pull him under. 

Dean slips down a hallway, this one pitch black and clearly not being used. He forces a jammed door open and slips inside, closing it behind him. He slumps to the floor and breathes, listening intently. He hears footsteps, but they’re faint. Then a shout, followed by more footsteps. They’ve found Ugly. Now Dean waits and prays. Prays they don’t find him. Even prays to Cas, hoping against all logic he’ll come.

\----

Cas lets out a growl and falls back against the bed, panting heavily, skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Baraqiel removes his hand and sighs, sitting down on the other end of the bed and scrubbing his face with his hands.

“It’s been hours, Baraqiel,” Cas says breathlessly, blinking up at the ceiling. “You said this would be the quickest way.”

“And it should have been,” Baraqiel snaps, then waves a hand in Cas’s direction. “I’m sorry. It’s just...he must be warded. Or it’s some kind of blood spell. It’s powerful. I’m having trouble breaking through the fog.”

“Then  _ keep trying _ .” Cas spits the words through clenched teeth, fisting into the sheets and giving him a hard nod. “Come on.”

Baraqiel looks at him wearily, tilting his head. “C’mon, dude. I’m weak. And no offense, but you’re not looking so hot either.” He gives a sideways glance at one of Cas’s wings that’s hanging off the edge of the bed, dull and pretty steadily losing feathers. His vessel looks rough too, his skin almost gray and gaunt.

Cas makes an irritated noise as he sits up, glaring over at Baraqiel. 

“I have to find him,” he snarls, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t expect you to understand, but he...Dean is a good man. A very good man. And he’s in this mess because of me. He could  _ die _ because of me. And I-” Cas looks down and swallows hard, closing his eyes for a long moment. He opens them again, staring down at the floor.

“If the situation were reversed,” he starts slowly, speaking deliberately, “he would exhaust any and all options for the people he loves. Any of them. All of them.”

Baraqiel narrows his eyes and parts his lips, watching Castiel’s profile intently.

Cas blinks again and looks back at Baraqiel. “He deserves the same.”

Baraqiel nods solemnly. “Okay. Yeah, okay. Just...give me a minute, okay? I need to regroup, consider what I’ve got so far.”

Cas lets out a breath and nods, then lays back down, only to shoot back up seconds later, his eyes wide.

Baraqiel jumps slightly. “What?”

Cas looks around wildly, holding out a hand. He blinks a few times and closes his eyes, listening intently.

“Dean.”

“Dean?!” Baraqiel moves closer, hovering a hand over Cas’s chest. “You- you’ve got him?”

“I can _ hear  _ him,” Cas says softly, “it’s...weak, but it’s there. It’s him.” He lets out a sigh of relief and opens his eyes again, gesturing to Baraqiel. “Quickly! He must have found a way to break the warding.”

Baraqiel once again presses his hand to Cas’s chest and Cas winces, biting his cheek, bracing himself for the fight that would take place as soon as they were able to pinpoint Dean’s location on earth.

\----

The good news is they didn’t find him.

The bad news is Dean has zero strength left to crawl to freedom.

He’s halfway down a hall he’s fairly certain leads to an exit, leaning heavily against a crumbling wall. He’s close to blacking out, vision spotting and head pounding. He can still hear the angels, though not as many now. Some left, presumably thinking he’s gone already. A few have stayed behind and are searching. Eventually they’ll come down this way and he’ll be screwed.

Dean tries to move forward, but instead collapses to his knees. He grunts, dragging in breath, every inhale painful. He’s lost too much blood and is weak from lack of food. 

“Damn it,” he grumbles, blinking warily. After all that effort, he’s still going to die. Frankly, it isn’t fair. 

“Found you.”

Dean winces at the sound of Bossman’s voice and grunts as he’s kicked forward. He falls onto the floor, wheezing as he grapples uselessly for his blade. It’s kicked away and he curses weakly.

“You’re nothing but trouble,” the angel snarled. “I might just go ahead and kill you. Don’t worry. I’ll make it slow.”

He laughs and hauls Dean up by his torn shirt, blade pressed to his throat-

Suddenly there’s a flash, so bright and powerful Dean has to cover his eyes. He’s dropped to the floor as Bossman screams, his grace flickering out, his vessel burning. 

Dean curls in on himself and right before his body finally gives out, he catches a glimpse of a trenchcoat.


	12. Chapter 12

“Dean?”

Cas kneels on the hard tile floor, supporting Dean’s shoulders and neck, a hand pressed to his cheek. His rubs his thumb softly over Dean’s bruised cheek, pushing as much grace to him as he can muster in his weakened state. He’s healing slowly, and Cas focused most of his grace on the worst part, the deep cuts on his chest from the warding...and subsequent  _ destroying _ of the warding. Cas smirks a little to himself, a strange sense of pride welling in his chest when he thinks about how painful that must have been, how Dean had pushed through it all to do what he needed to do...just like he always did.

“Dean...:” Cas speaks a little louder this time, his eyes scanning Dean’s face. “I’ve got you now.”

Dean wakes, only briefly, and blinks up at Cas. His cracked lips spread in a small grin and he swallows around his raw throat.

“Cas…” his voice is rough and he coughs wetly, then spits out some blood. He blinks, his vision darkening again. “Cas…” Dean goes limp again just as Cael comes running up behind Castiel.

“Sir,” he pants, angel blade gripped tightly. “I believe that’s all of them. A few, I think, left before we arrived. We should leave before they return.” He pauses, looking over Castiel carefully. “I can fly you both back, if you wish.”

Cas presses his lips together and nods, looking back at Dean and tightening his hold before Cael lays his hands on them and transports them quickly back to Heaven. 

Cas stands and shifts Dean in his arms, one arm under his head and the other behind his knees. He turns to Cael and nods again, bowing a little.

“Thank you, Cael,” he says sincerely, looking him in the eyes. “You were brave and loyal today. You helped save Dean. I cannot thank you enough.”

Cael opens his mouth to speak, but nods instead, bowing and turning to leave the throne room. Cas turns slowly and disappears into his room. He shuffles across the floor and gently lays Dean on the bed, pulling his own legs up on the bed and throwing an arm over Dean’s torso, watching him intently with tired eyes.

\----

When Dean wakes, it’s to a dark and pleasantly warm room. He’s laying on something  _ really _ soft, with a heat pressed up against his side.

He turns his head with little pain and blinks at Cas’s sleeping face. Dean frowns thoughtfully. Maybe he’s dreaming. Or dead. Cas doesn’t sleep. 

Dean reaches up and pauses, looking over his arm. He still has a few scrapes and bruises, but it’s nothing like before. He turns back to Cas and pokes him on the nose.

“Hey…” he rasps.. “You...like, real?”

Cas opens his eyes slowly and blinks a few times, clearing his eyes. He moves a hand up, grazing his fingertips against Dean's cheekbone. 

“Yes.”

Dean’s lips quirk into a weak smile. He almost doesn’t believe it, but that touch feels very real. And the residual pain from being tortured is also very real.

“...You came for me,” he says softly. It’s not really a question...just a simple statement said in awe.

Cas closes his eyes slowly and nods, moving his hand to Dean's neck before opening them again. He gives it a small squeeze.

“Of course I did.”

Dean covers the hand on his neck with his own and squeezes, sighing softly. He wants to kiss and touch, whisper those three words it took him a lifetime to say. The memory of the last time he kissed Castiel and the pain that followed is enough to refrain him from these impulses. 

“...Thank you,” he whispers, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I, uh...would’ve died. Without you.”

Cas huffs and pulls Dean tighter against his body, pressing their foreheads together. 

“No, I...I wasn't going to let that happen.”

Dean closes his eyes and licks his dry lips, grimacing at the taste of blood. He presses closer, seeking Cas’s warmth.

“Why?” he demands, his voice barely a whisper. “Why couldn’t you let that happen? Tell me.”

“Because I…” Cas licks his lips and swallows, closing his eyes again. “Because I need you. Because the thought of you dying made me want to do the same. Because…” he opens his eyes and looks down at Dean, huffing slightly. “I love you.”

Dean bites his lip hard and takes a shuddering breath. He keep his eyes shut and tightens his hold on Cas. A horrible voice is telling him this is a dream. That he’s still in that cell, rotting away, and Cas isn’t looking for him. That he doesn’t care.

But the solid, warm body pressed against him, the hands now in his hair, the heavy wings wrapped around him, tell him it’s no dream. He’s here with Cas and he just heard those words.

He finally opens his eyes and looks up. “I love you, too.”

“Dean, I'm sorry,” Cas brushes a hand through Dean's hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I'm so sorry… It was foolish of me to leave you that way… to say the things I said…”

He chokes and shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. 

Dean buries his face into Cas’s neck, hands moving up to thread into his hair. “Cas, it’s...just…” He sighs and presses a kiss to tan skin, moving up to Cas’s jaw, shivering at the stubble scratching his lips. 

“It’s...okay,” he sighs against Cas’s cheek. “We were both really stupid. It’s done now. I don’t...I can’t think about it anymore. Please, can we just...leave it.”

Cas sighs and presses his cheek against Dean's. 

“For now, yes.” he whispers, taking a deep breath. “But I still have… much to apologize for.”

“If you help me take a bath,” Dean grunts. “I’ll count that as one of your apologies. I feel...just really gross right now.”

Cas chuckles softly and presses a kiss to Dean's hair, pulling him up as he sits. 

“I can do that. Come, Dean.”

Dean follows Cas to the bathroom and lets himself be lowered into the perfectly warm water. He sighs as he sinks in, situating himself between Cas’s legs, leaning back against his chest. He relaxes, his aching muscle slowly unclenching.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters, closing his eyes. 

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's torso and buries his face in the crook of his neck. He kisses there and runs his nose along the ridge of his shoulder. 

He moves his hands up and across Dean's chest, using the tips of his fingers to massage the tight muscle. 

Dean hums and glances down, seeing only pink skin where the sigils had been carved and where he’d then destroyed them. And he knew that too would disappear soon. The body can heal, but Dean will remember the pain and horror of having to cut himself open just to escape. 

He shakes himself from these thoughts and focuses on Castiel, his gentle touch chasing away the ache in his muscles. He lays a hand on Cas’s thigh beneath the water, stroking and squeezing, the feel and knowledge that Cas is  _ here _ grounding him.

Cas moves his hands up and wraps his arms around the top of Dean's shoulders, pulling him close and pressing open - mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck. He sighs and drops his forehead to Dean's shoulder, rocking them slightly. 

“Dean, I….I will never be able to express to you properly how terribly sorry I am… for everything.” His voice is muffled by Dean's skin, but he can't be bothered to pull away. 

“Cas.”

Dean pulls away just enough to turn himself around, straddling Cas’s lap and bringing their chests flush together. He presses their foreheads together, hands in Cas’s hair. 

“I knew what I was getting into,” he sighs. “It doesn’t make it hurt less, but...I couldn’t let you fall apart. I saw your vessel failing, and I did what I had to. I knew it might be rough, but I...love you. I wouldn’t just let you die. I couldn’t.” Dean takes a breath and looks Cas in the eye. “And it wasn’t...all bad.” He blushes and clears his throat. “I liked, uh...serving you.” 

Cas smiles and huffs a laugh, looking down. He ghosts his fingertips up and down Dean's back for a few moments, water still and silence stretching between them.

“You have been… much better to me than I deserve,” Cas says softly, fixating on a water droplet clinging to Dean's chest. “But I...I did what I thought I needed to… in order to protect you. It doesn't change the fact that I did it, or how hard it was for you... but I thought I was keeping you safe.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “I was wrong. In so many ways.”

Dean lifts his hands from the water and cups Cas’s face. He strokes a cheek with his thumb and gently bumps their foreheads together.

“Cas, we both did things wrong,” Dean murmurs. “You...were at war. Raphael would have destroyed everything we saved. And I...took you for granted. Thought my problems were more important. I should have been helping you.” Dean kisses Cas’s rough cheek, rubbing his lips against the stubble. “Look, we both kind of suck at this...communicating thing. And we both hurt each other, so…” He sighs and pulls away to look Cas in the eye. “Let’s just...start over now.”

Cas parts his lips, contemplating what he could say to express his apologies, to promise his safety from here on out, to express how much he cares… how much he loves. Nothing seems good enough. 

He sighs and presses his lips together, reaching up to cradle Dean's face and stroke his cheeks with his thumbs. Very slowly he leans forward and grazes his lips against Dean's, closing his eyes. 

Dean only hesitates for a second, remembering how their last kiss ended, before sinking into it. He wraps his arms around Cas’s neck, hands tangling in his hair at the base of his neck. Their lips press together slowly, almost shy, gently massaging.

Dean sighs and opens up when Cas’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, letting him in eagerly. He’s been dying to kiss Cas since...well, a long time. And finally he gets to taste him without worrying that Cas might take off again.

Cas slots his tongue against Dean's and they move gently against one another as Cas’s hands move back into Dean's hair. He runs his fingertips along Dean's scalp and his tongue along his bottom lip, sighing softly. 

He moves his hands down slowly and wraps them back around Dean's middle, fingers splayed across his wet skin. Cas leans closer, their proximity too much and yet not enough. He needs Dean's very essence to surround him, all that he is and all that he strives so hard to be.

_ The righteous man _ . 

Dean had always been more than just a man to Cas. He'd been his best friend, his savior, his moral compass. He'd been, for all intents and purposes, his humanity. 

Dean pulls away only when his lungs start to burn. He pants into Cas’s lips and swallows, trying to press himself closer even when there isn’t even an inch between them. Once he catches his breath, Dean dives in for more. This one is more urgent, hungry, desperate for more. More of Cas, more of his heat, more of what Dean needed and craved with an insatiable lust.

He slides his hands down Cas’s shoulders and massaged at the base of his wings. He finds an oil gland and slides his fingers over the slit, drawing out that slippery substance he loved so much.

Cas arches his back and groans against Dean's lips, pulling away and panting. 

“Dean,” he gasps desperately, his hands moving up to grip his arms. “I shouldn't… after everything I did to you, I…” he closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head, swallowing hard. “I'm not…  _ worthy _ of you.”

Dean shakes his head and presses hard against the underside of Cas’s wing, eliciting another long moan. “ _ I _ decide if you’re worthy or not,” he says firmly, kissing him hard, all tongue and teeth tugging on lips.

“And I’ve decided…” Dean pants as they pull away. He brings his oil slicked fingers to his lips and licks. “You’re  _ more _ than worthy, Cas. You are  _ deserving _ and we  _ are _ going to fuck, because I  _ need _ you  _ now _ .”

Cas looks up at him in awe before finally nodding, pulling him in for another kiss. 

“But not here,” Cas says as he pulls away, licking his lips. “The bed. Please. I want to…  _ see _ you. I want to lay you out under me. I want to  _ worship _ you.”

Dean nods and swallows, pulling himself shakily out of the tub. Wet and dripping, he lets himself be lead to the bed and sinks down onto his bed. His heart is going crazy and his mind whirling. Him and Cas...they’ve never done  _ this _ before. This is...emotional. They’ve come close, but Cas had always pulled away.

Now Cas is hovering over him, looking at with those eyes, deep blue, and Dean is suddenly struggling to breathe. He’s the one that’s been doing the worshiping all this time. He doesn’t know how to  _ be  _ worshiped.

Cas lays himself over Dean and kisses him again, cradling his face with a hand. He moves his tongue slowly against Dean's and rolls his hips once, pressing his erection against Dean's flat stomach. 

He finally pulls away when Dean is breathless again, reaching back to prod for some oil and coating his fingers with it. He moves a pillow down and pats Dean's thigh once, pushing it under him when Dean complies and lifts up. 

He silently pushes Dean's legs apart and situates himself between them. Watching Dean carefully, he moves his hand down between his cheeks and runs his slicked fingers over Dean's hole, letting his mouth fall open and pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth. 

Dean tenses for only a moment then groans softly, his legs falling open as he rolls his hips downward. He had expected to be a little gun shy about this, considering past events, but he’s not. He’s just as hungry for Cas as he’s ever been, and that teasing finger rubbing at his rim is starting to drive him crazy.

He looks down, at his swollen cock, his spread thighs, Cas’s heavy erection hanging between his legs. He moans and tosses his head back, jutting his hips up shamelessly. Okay, he’s starting to realize why he doesn’t do  _ lovemaking _ . He’s too impatient. 

Cas moves to lay on his stomach as he pushes a finger inside and begins to move it in and out slowly. He looks up at Dean just in time to see him hiss through his teeth and let his head fall back, and Cas adds another finger quickly. He waits until Dean looks back up at him before he leans up and licks a slow stripe up Dean's cock, watching him through his eyelashes. 

“ _ Ohhh, fuck! _ ” Dean jerks, his cock jumping. He sucks in a breath and looks down, licking his lips quickly. He can feel Cas’s warm breath on his swollen head and whimpers, lifting his hips slightly.

“Please, Master…” Dean pants, fingers curling into the sheets. “I’m so...I  _ need _ something, anything…”

Cas withdraws his fingers and moves back up, kissing his way up Dean's body, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth, then presses their lips together. 

“No,” he says simply, shaking his head as he pulls away enough to look Dean in the eyes. “Not master. Just Cas. Please.”

Dean blinks and nods slowly, corner of lips quirking. “Cas…” He pushes up and captures Cas’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, whispering against his lips. “ _ Castiel _ .”

He slides a leg up, wrapping it around Cas’s waist and pulling him closer. He sighs when their cocks brush together, pre-cum slicking the way.  “Please, Cas…” he murmurs against Cas’s lips. “I’ve...missed you.”

Cas groans and reaches back again to gather more oil, which he smoothes over both of their cocks as he takes hold of them between their bodies and gives a couple of lazy strokes. 

He shifts and lines himself up between Dean's legs, watching him with parted lips as he gently pushes inside. He pauses when he feels his swollen head pop past Dean's rim. Cas bites his lip, but Dean’s leg tightens around him, urging him on. 

Dean, to his credit, only winces a little. Cas isn’t exactly small, but the burn makes Dean groan and shiver. He grinds down, taking Cas in just a little more, loving the delicious stretch. 

“I’m not gonna break, Cas,” he chuckles and reaches up, gripping the back of Cas’s neck. “C’mon, get  _ in me _ .” He rolls his hips down again, getting Cas deeper.

Cas takes a deep breath and pushes in slowly, reaching up and pulling Dean's hand from his neck and lacing their fingers together. He moves their hands above their heads, pushing down and squeezing as he buries himself deeper, inch by inch. 

He presses his forehead to Dean's as he bottoms out, panting against his lips. He rolls his hips once and captures Dean's lips with his own, breathing in deeply through his nose. 

Dean opens up for him readily, tasting Cas’s tongue with his own, moaning when he feels that hard cock twitch inside him. He digs his fingers into Cas’s back, just below his wings, oil leaking from the gland making it slippery. 

“Cas…” he breathes out when they part, showering kisses along Cas’s jaw and neck. He shifts, dragging Cas’s cock along his prostate. He groans and arches, lifting his other leg to wrap it around Cas’s waist.

Cas reaches his free hand up to intertwine their fingers, effectively pinning both of Dean's hands over his head as he sets a steady pace, throwing his weight behind each thrust as Dean arches beneath him. He buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck, pressing kisses to wet skin and running his tongue along his jaw. 

“You are...  _ beautiful _ , Dean,” Cas murmurs breathlessly, grunting as his thighs slap against Dean's backside. “So beautiful… made for me…”

The sound of skin against skin, the way the sheets slid against his back, the feel of Castiel pounding into him with deep, strong thrusts- it all has Dean panting, moaning,  _ writhing _ . He fits perfectly underneath Cas, their bodies slotting together, moving seamlessly. 

Dean buries his nose into Cas’s wild hair, his neck tingling where Cas’s hot breath puffed against it. “Yes,” he groans out. “Just for you.” He believes this, too. Whether God really had a plan or not....Dean is certain he was never meant to say yes to Michael. It was Cas that got him out of hell, that’s always been there for him, put his needs before his own. If there’s one angel he’s made to house, to take in, it’s Castiel.

“ _ Dean,”  _ Cas gasps, his thrusts becoming slightly more sporadic. “ _ With me, Dean. Stay...with me.”  _ He pulls back and meets Dean's gaze with lidded eyes full of admiration. Cas presses a kiss to his lips, murmuring against them.  _ “I love you, Dean. I love you…” _

Dean sucks in a breath, his fingers squeezing Cas’s tightly, tears prickling the corners of his eyes because he still can’t believe he gets to hear those words. A small part of him still believes this is a dream. 

He growls at himself, using Cas’s cheek to wipe at his stupid leaking eyes. “ _ I love you, too...Cas, _ ” Dean murmurs roughly, biting and nibbling just under Castiel’s jaw. 

Cas groans and lets go of Dean's hands in favor of cupping his face, pressing soft kisses to the corners of his eyes even as he slams relentlessly into him. Cas stills and comes with a loud moan, dropping his forehead to Dean's and slowly thrusting as he pumps him full, pressing hard and deep against his prostate. 

Dean twitches, thrusting up and locking his hips. He gasps Castiel’s name as he spills between their bodies, his cum smearing across sweaty skin. His arms loop around Cas’s shoulders and he grips the base joint of a wing, squeezing the strong muscle. He clenches around the thick girth inside him, his hungry body trying to keep every drop inside.

Cas pants and collapses bonelessly against Dean's body, effectively covering his torso in Dean's spend as his cock twitches inside him with the remnants of his orgasm. His breath hitches as he shifts his hips to allow his cock to slip out and he rolls to his back, chest heaving, eyes closed, his fingers gripping Dean's thigh tightly. 

Dean grunts and his hole flutters around the suddenly emptiness. He shifts to his side, an arm reaching out and falling onto Cas’s chest. He pulls himself closer, pressing himself up against Cas, using his shoulder as a pillow.

He’s partially laying on Cas’s wings and one comes up to wrap around him, a dark canopy enveloping him. Dean closes his eyes, working to catch his breath, feeling safe and warm- something very rare in his life.

“I love you,” Cas repeats breathlessly, almost reverently, loving the way the words sound, and especially the way Dean looks when he says them. He puts his hand over Dean's on his chest and squeezes, fingertips pressing into Dean's palm. He looks up and frowns, licking his lips. “Dean, I....I think I always have. I'm sorry that it took… all this… for me to-”

The lump in his throat stops him and he swallows. He raises Dean's hand to his lips and kisses his fingertips, moving it back down to rest with his over his heart. 

Dean pulls up slightly to press a kiss just above where their hands are entwined. He licks a slow, lazy trail up Cas’s chest and to his neck, where he nuzzles and nibbles gently. 

“Don’t think about it anymore,” he says softly. “Just...be here with me, okay? I need it, Cas. We can talk about all that crap later. Right now, all I can think about is laying here with you.” He lifts his head and bumps their noses together, smiling slightly. “Can we put the world on hold for a night?”

Cas gives him a small smile and nods, moving his hands to Dean’s hair and pulling him into a slow, open-mouthed kiss. One hand slides down to press against his lower back, wanting him closer.

“Okay,” he agrees, nodding again. “Yes, okay. I’ll try.”

Dean hums and kisses him again. Just like in everything else, they slide together  _ just right _ , and Dean can’t get enough of it.

“Awesome,” he sighs, laying his head back down on Cas’s chest. “In a minute, when I feel like moving again, you’re gonna find me some food. I think those douchebags fed me once. I’m starving.”

Cas runs his fingertips through Dean's hair and down his side. He draws his eyebrows together in a frown, his hand stopping at Dean's waist and squeezing slightly. 

“Dean, how did they -” Cas starts, biting his lip. “How did they find you? Did you… summon them?”

Dean frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “Summon? No, why would I?” He snorts and rubs his cheek against Cas’s chest, sighing deeply. “Bastards interrupted a beer run. I was with Sam and Bobby- oh!” He abruptly sits up, turning to face Cas. “Sammy! Does he-is he alright? How long was I gone? He’s probably tearing up half the country looking for me.” 

“He’s alright. Sam and Bobby both.” Cas winces as he sits, letting out a labored breath. He brings a hand up to stroke Dean’s cheek, giving him a small smile. “I sent Jophiel to reassure them. And to let them know that you will be home, once I can ensure your safety.”

He presses his lips into a hard line. “And to do that, I’ll have to figure out who tipped Raphael’s people off to your location. You’re warded. They never should have known you were even on earth.” 

Dean watches Cas carefully, taking in the details he’d missed earlier. His wings were sagging, dull and losing feathers. Skin pale in comparison to its normal tan, bags under his eyes. Cas looks...worn out, and it has Dean twitching with worry. 

He blinks, trying to focus on Cas’s words. “You really can’t guess who would give away my location?” Dean bites back a sigh. “But…” he presses a hand to Cas’s chest, fingertips playing over the skin. “Cas, I think you need to rest first. You don’t...look well.”

Cas stares at him, brow creasing in confusion as he tilts his head. 

“I'm fine, Dean. I don't require any rest.” He presses forward, laying a hand over Dean's and pulling it from his chest, giving it a squeeze. 

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes, stroking his thumb across Cas’s knuckles. “You’re not fine, Cas,” he says gently, but firmly. He’s not holding his tongue this time. He’s done for too long. “You were sleeping earlier. Your feathers are…” Dean sighs and picks one off the bed, having recently fallen off. “I...can’t tell you what to do, so I’m just going to  _ ask _ to rest a while.”

“Dean, I need to…” he bites his lip and looks to the door. Dumah had been insistent on going after Samael immediately, and Cas was more than ready for them to go so he could have some time with Dean. However, if Dean is beginning to notice his vessel…

“No, I...I have…” he swallows hard, looking down at the feather in Dean's hand. “There's something I have...I need to go and take care of.”

Dean chews on his lip and carefully sets the feather down. “Cas, I…” he hesitates, then takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I know what you... _ think _ you need to do. I know why you need Samael, and I...Cas,” Dean licks his lips. “You don’t need any more souls. You have enough. That spell was made for what you have now. If you take more in, I don’t think...your vessel will hold.”

Cas’s eyes widen marginally and rubs absently at the back of his neck. He sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging. “Dean, if I don't, I…”

_ Might die.  _

He closes his mouth and looks down. Death is better than what he deserves now anyway. And there was no denying the souls made him… not  _ him _ . But Dean was wrong… the souls made him  _ stronger _ . The souls would save him. He opens his mouth to speak again when a realization hits him, and he turns his attention slowly back to Dean. 

“Did you…  _ know  _ that the spell wasn't going to last? When I brought you here?”

Dean tenses and looks down, running a sweaty palm over his thigh. He swallows hard, closing his eyes briefly. “I...wasn’t sure, Cas,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I was desperate. Every day, I saw the news and you looked worse and worse. I  _ could not  _ lose you. I couldn’t find anything else, Cas. You’re going to  _ die _ and I couldn’t-” Dean stops and tugs at his hair, breathing unsteady. “I did what I had to. It was either that spell or…” He looked up, eyes shiny, desperate. 

“You… knew I was going to die anyway and you-” Cas shakes his head and swallows, clenching his jaw as he looks straight ahead at the wall. “So that's why you came so willingly. Because you knew. You knew I'd die anyway. You'd go home and the world would be saved and everything would be fine.” Cas huffs a humorless laugh and covers his face with his hands. “Wow. That's-” he scoffs and looks tiredly over at Dean, “I suppose that's what you've always done, though. ‘Whatever it takes’.” He shrugs, looking down at his hands. “Well, it’s what I deserve, anywa. I shouldn't be surprised.”

“ _ No _ !” Dean shouts, surging forward and taking Cas’s face into his hands. “That’s  _ not _ why I came here with you. Damn it, Cas, I’ve been trying to  _ help _ you. I didn’t know if the spell would hold or not, but it...it was all I had. I did this  _ for you _ . How many times do I have to tell you that? I did this, because I love you. You were going to die, so I stopped it.”

Dean swallows, tears burning his eyes. It would figure now that he’s gotten what he’s always wanted he’d lose it just as quickly.

“Those angels beat me,” he breathes heavily. “They tortured me. Demanding what your weakness was. How they could kill you. I told them you didn’t have one. That there was nothing that could kill you. I didn’t care what they did to me, I wasn’t going to-” Dean suddenly pulls away, looking Cas in the eye. “Any of your angels try to help, Cas? Any of those supposedly loyal subjects scour the fucking earth looking for something, anything, that could strengthen you? I  _ know _ they didn’t, because they would have found that spell before I did. Don’t you  _ dare _ cheapen what I did, what I sacrificed, to keep you from falling apart.”

Cas breathes in deeply and closes his eyes, rubbing his fingers over them.  

“I'm sorry. I wasn't - I didn't mean to -” he opens his eyes again and looks back at Dean, pleading. “That's not what I meant to imply. I'm sorry. I know you did what you had to… what was best.” He shakes his head. “I was…  _ am _ … a villain. You did what you had to to protect them. And in the meantime you… well. You saved me.” He gives Dean a sad smile. “No matter what happens now.”

“Cas, you-” Dean huffs a breath and grips Cas’s hand. “You’re not a villain. You just did what you thought you had to. You think me and Sam were perfect saving the world? Saving people? We fucked up every step of the way.” He sighs, sagging tiredly. “I’m sorry. I thought...maybe I’d find something here to help you. But Heaven is too big. I got lost and you…” Dean stops and looks away. He was going to say ‘kept me locked away’ and while true, didn’t think it’d help this particularly difficult conversation now. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you. I was stupid and had hoped I could fix it.”

“You weren't stupid.”

Cas leans forward, capturing Dean's gaze with his own. “If the situation were reversed...I can't say I wouldn’t have done the same thing for you.” He scrubs a hand over his face, pulling slightly at his bottom lip. “But I'm... _ afraid _ to die. And much more than that, Dean, I....I have you now… and I'm just...I don't want that to end so soon. Not when I just got you. I can’t-”

He chokes and swallows hard, closing his eyes. 

Dean grinds his teeth and pulls Cas into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. “You’re not going to die,” he says fiercely, blinking past tears. He sounds much more confident than he feels. “We’ll fix it. Okay? I’m not losing you.”

Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s torso, pressing the side of his face to Dean’s chest, the steady thumping of his heart working to ground him there, instead of thinking of all the horrific ways his life could end...potentially at any time now. He had known he hadn’t imagined the weakening of his vessel, but before now he had never considered the possibility that his vessel would be unable to contain more of the power that made him so strong in the first place. He hadn’t considered the deterioration to be that bad either, but the events of the past day and his exhaustion now had proven that a wrong assumption. 

Cas grits his teeth and pulls away, holding Dean firmly by the shoulders. 

“I cannot let them see me weak, Dean,” he says sternly, looking him in the eyes. “I have to still lead them, until a time in which I am unable.” He narrows his eyes, chewing his lip. “How sure are you, that Dumah was the one to tip Raphael’s followers to your location?”

Dean shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, she’s always- wait,” he pauses and licks his lips. “You said you had to…’go do something’.” Dean frowns and leans forward. “Cas, did you find Samael? How-” He hisses and rubs his hand over his face. “Cael, Baraqiel. Where are they? I’m the only one he told. So who told  _ you _ ?”

Cas blinks. “Dumah...she came to me shortly after I left you at Bobby’s. She told me she overheard Baraqiel tell you the location. We were on the way to retrieve him when I heard you pray. When you were taken.” He huffs an incredulous laugh. “You think...you really think Dumah would try to have you killed? You think she orchestrated this?”

Dean scoffs and shifts on his knees, sitting back on his calves. “Cas, Baraqiel only told me a few hours before we left for Bobby’s. Dumah was digging into him just minutes before I came. I...I wouldn’t be surprised if she overheard.” He looks Cas in the eye. “You don’t think she’d use that information to distract you? She figured you’d be so focused on getting Samael, you wouldn’t even notice what happened to me. And by the time you did...if you did, I’d already be dead. With his followers to blame.”

Cas’s jaw clenches and he looks away. “I almost fell for it. I almost lost you because of her.” He shakes his head and stands, pulling on his clothes. “I’ll fix this, Dean. I should have listened to you...about her. I was an idiot.”

“Cas, wait, wait,” Dean stumbles out of bed and after Cas, gripping his wrist. “You can’t just...storm in and smite her.” He pauses and smirks slightly. “As much fun as that would be to watch. You need to make an example of her. She betrayed you. What if others get the same idea?” Dean shrugs and drops his hand. “Make her squirm a bit. After the hell she put us through, she deserves it.”

“Now, Dean,” Cas tilts his head, smiling as he takes Dean’s face in his hands. “You were never one to be intentionally spiteful…”

Dean’s lips twitch and he leans into Cas’s touch. “I just..” He sighs, kissing his palm. “Really,  _ really _ , hate her.” Dean steps forward, crowding into his space. “And I kinda like it when you go all Smitey McSmiterson on them…” 

“I noticed,” Cas says cooly, pressing a kiss to Dean’s lips and nipping lightly, his hands sliding to his neck. “What would you have me do?”

Dean shrugs and lets his tongue dart out briefly to taste Cas’s lips. “You’re the smiter, not me. But whatever you do, make it public. So all your angels can see what happens to traitors.” 

Cas frowns and looks down at Dean’s lips, then back up at his eyes. He blinks and a slow smile spreads across his face, and he leans forward to again graze his teeth over Dean’s lip.

“Tomorrow. Right now I don't want to be anywhere but here.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Wake up, Dean.”

Cas’s gravely voice is in his ear, the warmth of his body pressed all around him. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas hovering above him, elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, their bodies flush. Cas gives him a small smile and leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

Dean blinks a few times, sleep blurring his vision, and smiles softly. “Better,” he answers in a sleep roughened voice. He reaches up and pulls Cas down to him for another kiss, this one much longer and slower.

“Mmm, I like waking up to you,” Dean murmurs against his lips, their breath mingling. He smiles again, feeling cozy and warm underneath Cas, his wings surrounding him like a blanket.

Cas hums and sucks softly on Dean’s bottom lip and runs his tongue along it, then kisses him again, fingers moving up to thread into his hair. He shifts his weight and rolls his hips once against Dean’s front, smiling against his lips.

“Me too.”

Dean groans softly, feeling a familiar hardness pressed against him. He thrusts up, rubbing against it lazily, fingers sliding down Cas’s shoulders and teasing along the base of his wings. 

“Need me to take care of that for you?” he teases, nosing along Cas’s jaw.

Cas closes his eyes and moans, dropping his forehead to Dean’s shoulder.

“As much as I would love that, I have another issue to tend to this morning.” He lifts up and kisses the tip of Dean’s nose, then his lips again, barely slipping his tongue between them. “Would you be interested in helping me?”

Dean nips at the tip of Cas’s tongue before it disappears, much to his dismay. “Hm,” he hums, rubbing his lips across Cas’s stubble and shivering as it scratches gently at his skin. “I suppose I can help.” He smiles teasingly and lets out a dramatic sigh. “The things I do for you.”

Cas leans down and kisses his jaw. He groans and pushes himself up to his knees, then slides the rest of the way off the bed. He pulls on his clothes quickly and starts fiddling irritably with his tie.

Dean smirks and slides out of bed, mourning the soft warmth almost immediately. He sighs and bats away Cas’s hands, shaking his head slightly. 

“All that power,” he snorts as he straightens and tightens. “And you still can’t get this thing right.”

“Be honest, you enjoy when you’re better at something than I am,” Cas replies sardonically, reaching down to grab his jacket. He shrugs it on, flattening the lapels, and leans forward to kiss Dean again, always just one more time. It never seems like enough. 

Finally he pulls the trench on, heading for the door. He stops and looks back, a shy smile spreading across his face. Cas slips out, door closing softly behind him. 

\----

It doesn’t take long for Cael to assemble all of the angels that routinely saw Dean, as there is a surprising amount of angels there that are likely unaware there was ever a human in Heaven that wasn’t dead. The ones that knew of Dean’s presence were much fewer, around twenty or so. Cas’s most trusted.

Or so he’d thought.

They all file in and arrange themselves in a single-file line across the bottom of the steps, while Cas sits on the throne watching, not saying a word and doing his best to look stronger than he’s feeling at the moment. No weakness, make an example. Sometimes Dean knew better than him what was necessary.

Most of the angels, too preoccupied with the tense silence from their leader and the mystery behind the summons, don’t notice Dean slip out of Cas’s room. Dressed in loose jeans that hang low and black shirt that hugged his chest, Dean ascends the steps.

The angels start to fidget, some being unused to seeing someone other that Cas by the throne. Cael stands by, watching curiously, the only one in there who is somewhat relaxed. Dumah stiffens noticeably, narrowing her eyes as Dean casually lowers himself to rest on the arm of the throne.

Cas glances up at Dean and drums his fingers anxiously on the armrest, looking back down and out over the angels watching them. 

“I want to thank the great many of you for helping me to bring my beautiful pet home to me,” Cas begins, reaching out the hand hidden behind Dean to press reassuringly to his back. “And to the rest of you, for continuing the mission to capture Samael.”

None of them speak when Cas pauses, running the hand up Dean’s spine.

He catches eyes with Cael and sighs, pleased to see the angel is looking okay. He gives him a small nod before turning his attention back to Cas, letting the stares wash over him. They didn’t matter. Only his Master is important now.

“Because of all of you, we were able to save Dean’s life, and I cannot even begin to express the depth of my gratitude. Dean is, as you all know, very important to me.”

They all watch him intently. Even Dumah, although it was clear by her expression that she was less than pleased with Dean’s current standing. Her stance is rigid, even for an angel.

“I wanted to thank you all, but I didn’t call you here just for that.” Cas shifts in his seat, eyes scanning the row of angels below. “Someone here thought it would be wise...or somehow... _ beneficial  _ to them...to disclose Dean’s location to my enemies.”

There are a few gasps and some of the angels murmur softly but Cas all but ignores them, his eyes trained on Dean’s face. 

“My Lord-”

Cas holds up a hand and tears his gaze away from Dean to glare down at Dumah, who promptly closes her mouth and clenches her jaw, looking away. 

“My precious pet was taken from me, beaten, tortured, starved… and yet he remained resilient...until such time as we were able to locate and rescue him. Refusing to turn against me.”

Cas reaches up and traces Dean’s jaw gently with his fingertips. Dumah fumes, clenching her fists by her sides. 

“How  _ dare _ you?!” she snaps, taking a step forward and effectively drawing all eyes to her. “How dare you be more concerned for your  _ whore  _ than your own family?!”

Cas sets his jaw and turns his attention slowly from Dean down to Dumah.

“How dare  _ you _ speak out of turn in my presence?” Cas spits back. Dumah turns red and the angels around her stare with wide eyes.

“You let him ... _ defile  _ you in such disgusting ways, Castiel! We all know it!” Dumah snaps, taking another step toward them. “He is only human, a vile, putrid, worthless peon-”

“And you found his humanity to be worthy of death? That because he is human - despite his allegiance, his  _ loyalty  _ to me- he deserved to die by the hand of my enemies? Who are  _ you  _ to   
make that call for me?”

A few angels gasp and take a few steps away from Dumah. She gapes up at Cas, momentarily forgetting about Dean. Her eyes begin to widen with fear as realization dawns on her. She flexes her wings, attempting to escape, but she’s completely grounded. Cas has   
her pinned.

“It was you, Dumah?” Phanuel asks, appalled. They’d been  _ trusted _ with this information, the only few who even knew Dean was in Heaven, his safety had been top priority. Whether they understood Cas’s fascination with the human or not, it was their God’s wish to have him there, safe and happy. To purposefully put his ‘pet’ in danger was to  _ betray _ Castiel.

Dumah once again tries to poof out of there, but she can’t move a muscle. She seethes, face red with anger.

“He was going to betray Castiel!” she spits out. “My Lord, please! He was going to to kill Samael before you could get to him! He knew the location of the reaper and didn’t tell you!  _ I did! _ ”

“Dean’s intentions were pure,” Cas says firmly, clenching his fists on the armrests of the throne. “Yours were not.” He stands, adjusting his tie and reaching out to run a hand through Dean’s hair. 

“He warned me of you,” Cas starts, pointing at Dumah as he takes a step down toward her. “Months ago, when he first came here. I didn’t listen. I thought it couldn’t be, that my most loyal angel, my most trusted...they would never try to hurt me in such ways. Hurt the ones I love.” He pauses, shoving his hands in his pockets, shoe scuffing against stone as he comes to a stop. 

Dumah looks around wide-eyed, all of the angels once by her side now cast off to the sides away from her, whispering amongst themselves. 

“My Lord, I am...I  _ am _ your most loyal. Let me show you, let me prove to you-”

Cas scoffs and tilts his head, looking down at her. “What did you think was going to happen when I found out?”

“I...I…” she stammers, casting desperate looks at the other angels. Surely one would step in, defend her actions. Surely she isn’t the only one who wants this human gone. They remain silent, though, not daring to step in on her behalf.

“He- he distracts you, my Lord,” Dumah shakes her head, swallowing nervously. “He’s...he’s sin! He’s impure. He tries to influence you for his own gains!”

Dumah is so fixated on Cas, she doesn’t notice Dean’s purposeful descent of the stairs, an angel blade gleaming in his head.

Cas takes another couple of steps, pausing only briefly at the bottom of the steps. He shuffles over to her and stops, just a few feet away, his jaw set, teeth grinding. His wings twitch irritably by his sides, fists clenching in his pockets.

He meets her eyes, big brown eyes framed with thick lashes and wide with fear. 

“Sin?” Cas smiles incredulously, tilting his head to the other side. “Mmm. Maybe. Maybe, as it turns out, I like a little bit of sin.”

Dumah gapes and tries to formulate words, but nothing comes out.

“But then,” Cas continues, smile growing wider, “none of us are truly without sin. Not me. Not any of them.” Cas looks around at the angels surrounding them, and back to Dumah, meeting her gaze again. “And certainly not you.”

Dumah shakes her head, shaking with fear, reeking of desperation, opening her mouth to beg, plead-

“Psst.”

She whips around, suddenly able to move, only to find Dean standing behind her. She blinks, momentarily stunned.

Dean smiles and throws his arm back, then thrusts the deadly weapon forward. It hits home, stabbing into her heart. She gasps, tries to stumble back, then the room fills with bright light and heat as her grace flares and fizzles out. Dean shields his eyes, only peeking out when he feels the body slump down, falling to the hard floor with a thump. 

Dumah’s burned-out eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open, body twisted from the fall, her wings black and burned as they disintegrated into ash. 

Cas looks down at her body, scuffing a shoe over one of the ashy wings. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and scrubs one down his face, thumbing at the corner of his lip before he looks back up at Dean.

“Impatient?”

Dean shrugs, decently looking just a little ashamed of himself, but mostly looking amused and a bit smug.

“Her voice was annoying,” he says, biting his lip and look at Cas through his eye lashes. Cas stares at him then huffs a laugh, turning and nodding to Haniel.

“Dispose of her, please. The rest of you-” he takes a step back to look back and forth between them all, “thank you for being loyal. Thank you for serving without question. You’re all dismissed.”

They begin to file out of the room quickly, and Cas steps forward only to lay a hand on Cael’s arm, pulling him to the side.

He bows his head nervously. “Sir?”

“Cael, I…” Cas takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for all I’ve done to you. For not trusting you over Dumah, for locking you away…” Cas pauses, licking his lips. “You are trustworthy and loyal and I didn’t appreciate you the way I should have.”

Cael’s eyes widen and he fidgets, casting a glance over at Dean. 

“I…” Cael turns back to Castiel and bows again, blinking rapidly. “Thank you, sir. I’m just glad you’re alright. My only concern is for your well-being. You...you’ve treated us well, Castiel. Raphael was a tyrant. You are fair. You listen to us. You  _ deserve _ loyalty.”

“Thank you, Cael.” Cas bows his head and reaches up to clap him on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He looks over at Dean before leaning in close, lowering his voice: “How is Baraqiel? Were you able to heal him completely?”

Cael nods firmly. “Yes, sir. Dumah...did quite a bit of damage. But I was able to heal most of  him with minimal difficulty. He’s resting now. I believe he’ll be ready for travel in a day or two, when his grace has recovered fully.”

Cas drops his hand and looks over at Dean again, watching him speaking with Haniel. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods absently, looking back at Cael.

“When he is ready for visitors, please let me know.”

“Yes, sir.” Cael nods again then quickly leaves, ready to get the whole ordeal far from his mind.

Haniel gives Dean and Cas a quick nod, Dumah’s body in his arms, and leaves silently. The door shuts, echoing, and Dean chews his bottom lip as he fidgets with the blade.

“Okay, I know you were supposed to kill her, being God and all,” Dean sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “But, Cas, she was disrespecting you, and I...I didn’t want to hear any more-”

He’s cut off when Cas crushes their lips together, grunting as his back hits the hard stone of the back wall. Cas’s hands cup his face, fingers pressing hard as he explores Dean’s mouth with his own tongue, his body pressed snugly against Dean’s.

Cas’s teeth graze against his bottom lip before biting down and pulling slightly, his hands moving to the sides of Dean’s neck and his thumbs ghosting along his jawline. He rolls his hips, uttering a low moan against Dean’s lips.

Dean groans into the kiss, mouth opened wide, tongue sliding against Cas’s eagerly. He wraps his arms around Cas’s waist, squeezing his sharp hips as he ground his hardening cock against Cas’s. He can feel that thick cock through the slacks and growls, breaking the kiss and panting roughly.

Dean huffs, nosing under Cas’s jaw and reaching down to grip Cas’s through his pants. He squeezes and pumps it once. “I want you inside me  _ now _ .”

Cas groans and leans into Dean, dropping his forehead against his. His hand slides up and Cas pulls back to watch as he pushes a thumb between Dean’s lips, leaning forward to barely dip his tongue in with it. He leans back again and presses the thumb to his tongue.

Dean groans and presses himself up against Cas, rubbing and burying his face into a warm, tan neck. “Please, Master,” he purrs, licking at the shell of Cas’s ear. He dips his hand into Cas’s pants, wrapping his fingers around the fat cock inside. He squeezes, rubbing his thumb along the thick vein underneath. “You liked it, didn’t you, Master...you  _ liked _ watching me kill for you.”

Cas’s breath catches and his grits his teeth, grabbing Dean’s wrist and letting his hand slide down to cover Dean’s. He uses a thumb to pull at Dean’s bottom lip before sealing his own over them, tongue outlining them before pushing inside again. He finally breaks off the kiss in favor of gently nipping along his jaw and up to his ear.

“I love watching you do anything,” he whispers softly, teeth grazing the lobe. 

Dean shivers and swipes a thumb over Cas’s leaking head, smearing the generous amount of cum already seeping out. “Mmm,” he dips his head and grazes his teeth along Cas’s neck, biting down just where it meets the shoulder. “Maybe you want to watch me ride this cock then,” he purrs as he strokes downward, squeezing the base. 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ Cas gasps, nuzzling Dean’s neck, his hand in his hair. “Yes. Yes,  _ please  _ Dean…”

He pulls away reluctantly and takes Dean’s hand, pressing a palm to his own cock to relieve some of the pressure. He leads them to the bedroom, letting the door slam behind them as he backs Dean across the room, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.

Dean walks backwards until the backs of his thighs hit the bed. He tumbles onto his back and lifts his hips as Cas roughly pulls his jeans off. 

He smirks and bends each knee, feet planted on the bed, and spreads his thighs. Cas loosens his tie around his neck and pulls it over his head, casting it to the floor. He starts at the top of his shirt with the buttons, working his way down, standing at the edge of the bed and biting his lip as he watches Dean spread himself out. 

Dean smirks and sits up on his knees, taking over the buttons that Cas is fumbling over, quickly making his way down the shirt to the pants that are straining hard against Cas’s hard cock.

Cas leans in close to Dean’s ear, tongue and teeth teasing the lobe.

“Will you  _ corrupt  _ me with your  _ impurity _ , Dean?”

Dean chuckles low in his throat and roughly pulls Cas’s pants down, freeing his cock. He watches it bounce, the head poking at a flat stomach. 

“Glad to, Cas,” he murmurs, tugging Cas onto the bed and pushing at his shoulders. Cas falls onto his back and Dean climbs on top, straddling his waist. He arches his back and slips Castiel’s cock between his cheeks, rubbing against it teasingly. 

Cas splays his fingers across Dean’s thighs, just above his knees, and gives them a squeeze as he watches Dean above him, his stretching and muscles pulling with each movement. He slides his hands up across the expanse of Dean’s flat stomach, flicking a finger over a pert nipple to watch him twitch. 

Cas slides his hand back down and strokes Dean’s cock lazily, watching Dean move with lidded eyes. He groans and lets his head fall back, thrusting up impatiently.

“C’mon, Dean... _ fuck me _ , please…”

Dean smirks down at him and tilts his head to the side. “Mm, I think I like it when you beg,” He grazes his teeth on his bottom lip and lifts his hips just enough to tease the head of Cas’s cock against his rim. He presses down, the tip slipping inside, then pauses. “Do it again.” 

Cas whines in the back of his throat and props himself up on his elbows, moving very carefully to keep his hips perfectly still. He reaches up with one hand and runs a hand through Dean’s hair, then tugs sharply at the longer part on top, exposing his throat.

“ _ Fuck. Me _ ,” he grinds out, teeth clenched. “ _ Please. _ ”

Dean shudders, his neck stretching just to the point of pain. His lips twitch and he groans, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s...more of a command,” he huffs, then drops himself. He sheaths Cas in one movement, hitting his spot dead on, and moans loudly. “But I guess it will do.” 

He doesn’t waste time and, with Cas’s hold still on his hair, Dean starts to roll his hips. He lifts, drops, lifts again. Bouncing slowly, dragging his hole across that big cock. 

Cas allows himself to fall back against the bed, his hand falling from Dean’s hair and sliding to his neck, then down his chest and coming to rest on the top of his thigh. He bites his own lip as he watches Dean move before finally pulling him down to him, a hand gripping the back of his neck tightly as he whispers in his ear:

“You want me to  _ beg _ for you, Dean?”

Dean falters, hips stuttering, and he digs his fingers into Cas’s shoulders. He’d mostly been teasing before, to get his Master riled up, but now the thought of Cas begging is making his cock throb. 

“Would you?” Dean growls, slamming his hips down sharply. “Will God beg for a human?”

Cas sits up, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and stilling him, looking up at him with wide, sincere and lust-blown eyes, lips slightly parted.

“I would bow down on my knees for you,” Cas begins, his hands moving to the globes of Dean’s ass and pulling around his cock. He pushes in slowly, watching Dean gasp a breath as he nudges his prostate. “I would press my forehead to the ground for you, Dean, if it’s what you wanted of me.”

Dean blinks, struggling to suck in air, and swallows thickly as he presses his forehead to Cas’s shoulder. He loops his arms under Cas’s, reaching up to grip his shoulders as he rocks his body slowly. 

It’s staggering to think, to  _ know _ , he has that much power over Cas. No... that Cas loves him so much to  _ give  _ that power to him. Dean can hardly wrap his brain around it. He presses closer to Cas, grinding down, getting him as deep as possible. His lips graze Cas’s skin, kissing and nuzzling as they move. 

“You might think too much of me,” Dean mutters into Cas’s neck. 

“No,” Cas rumbles back, pulling away to cup Dean’s face and capture his eyes in an intense stare. His eyes move back and forth over Dean’s features, his fingertips brushing across sharp cheekbones, up the curve of his eye socket and back down the ridge of his nose, and finally playing across his full lips. “Perhaps you think too little of yourself.”

Damn it, Cas is always giving him that  _ look _ . Dean knows, logically, that Cas can see his soul, but to  _ feel _ him looking at it was always a little disconcerting. Intense. 

To keep Cas from saying more  _ things _ , Dean seals their lips together in a hard kiss. He threads his fingers into dark hair, pulling roughly as he lifts himself up. He drops back down and groans into the kiss, nipping at Cas’s tongue and lips before he pulls way to suck in some much needed air.

Cas huffs and grabs Dean's hips, moving him up and down slowly. The exquisite drag of his cock against Dean's inner walls has him building slowly, the only sound in the room skin on skin and Dean's breathless moans. He lays back again and allows Dean to take over completely, letting one hand fall back to a thigh while the other spreads precum down Dean's swollen cock. He closes his eyes and relishes in the wet sound of his hand passing over the slick head and down the shaft, loving the way it makes Dean's breath hitch. 

Dean finds that he can’t take his eyes off Cas. He looks beautiful like this. This celestial creature, too complex for Dean to ever understand, with powers he can’t even fathom, is laid out beneath him and writhing with ecstasy. Dean bounces, riding that dick eagerly, sucking Cas in with each hard thrust, as he watches Cas arch perfectly into him. His wings, those huge black things, are spread wide on the bed and twitching endlessly. Some of the feathers brush against his legs, thighs, as a wing arches up to stroke against his body. Cas’s eyes are lidded, dark, that incredible blue watching his every move. That perfect mouth is hanging open, tongue darting out to wet pink lips, and Dean follows every second of it.

“You’re incredible, Dean, you know that?” Cas speaks softly, stroking his cock in time with his thrusts, the other hand squeezing his thigh. “So beautiful, so strong…” he groans and closes his eyes, raising his head slightly, “so  _ perfect _ , Dean, perfect for me…”

Cas opens his eyes again and watches Dean move above him, forehead creased in concentration and mouth hanging open as he pants, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead. Cas strokes faster, squeezing and rolling his wrist with each upstroke.

“Will you come for me, Dean? Let me see you. Make a mess of your God. I want...all of you.”

The words and a particularly well-aimed thrust of Cas’s hips has Dean toppling over the edge. He gasps as he comes, his cock twitching as hot jets of seed splatter across Cas’s stomach. He rides it through, driving his cock inside as his own empties across his body. He scratches across Cas’s chest, leaving bright red trails in their wake, as he looks down at his God with lust and pure adoration.

Cas bites his lip as he watches Dean come down from his orgasm, and he reaches up and pulls him flush, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck and shoulder as his cum is smeared between them. Cas gently rolls them over, settling Dean on his back and caressing his face as he presses their lips together. He pulls out slowly and moves down Dean’s body, his eyes locked on Dean’s the entire way until he’s laying on his stomach between Dean’s legs. He reaches a hand up and slides his forefinger through the mess, moving it down toward him. His hands gravitate to Dean’s thighs again and he squeezes slightly, making sure Dean’s full attention is on him before he licks a stripe up his slick cock, then closes his mouth over the head, tongue swirling to gather the remaining cum.

Dean jerks and grunts a his overly sensitive cock is taken into that hot, velvety mouth. “C-Cas,” he gasps, tearing at the sheets of the bed as he wars between wanting to pull away or thrust deeper into Cas’s mouth. He reaches down with one hand and grips tightly at Cas’s hair as his hips stutter. “Ah,  _ fuck _ , Cas!” Dean growls and thrusts up, unable to deny that tight heat. 

Cas laps up what’s left on Dean’s cock, then pulls off with a soft  _ pop _ , immediately moving to the pool across his stomach. He looks up at Dean through his lashes as he teases it with his tongue, taking some in his mouth and closing his eyes, humming appreciatively. 

“Is this what you wanted from me, Dean? You want to see me... _ worship _ you?” His tongue darts out again, taking more of Dean’s spend into his mouth. “On my knees for you…”

He looks up at Dean as he licks again, longer this time, moving up his body. He runs his tongue over his top lip and it disappears into his mouth, then darts out again.

“Showing you how much I  _ love _ you, Dean,  _ I love you _ …”

“Cas…” Dean closes his eyes and swallows hard, because what does he say to that? He doesn’t know how to express what he feels for Cas, how far he’d go for him, how much he  _ aches _ when Cas isn’t near, isn’t touching him. And never, not even in his dreams, did he think Cas would bend down and worship. Shower him with devotion, like he wasn’t just some dropout with a GED and a car. Like his soul wasn’t tainted from years in hell.

“Cas, this is- I can’t- it’s  _ too much _ ,” he huffs, face reddening, and he turns away. Because as beautiful, sexy,  _ sinful _ it is to watch Cas lap him up, Dean feels like he might explode if he hears or sees any more.

“Dean.”

Cas crawls back up the bed, pressing his weight to Dean’s torso and grabbing his face, pulling his gaze back to him. He watches him for a moment, then leans down and slowly kisses his forehead, each eyelid, his nose, the corners of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers, running his thumb over his cheek. “Don’t shut me out. Let me…” he pauses, letting a breath out in a huff. “Talk to me, Dean. Please.”

“Cas, I just…” he squirms, battling the two urges to lean into Cas and to crawl away. “I don’t feel  _ worthy _ of...this. This should...be the other way around. I don’t know how to  _ be _ worshiped...even if you’re really fucking hot doing it.”

“Why don’t you think you deserve this?” Cas runs his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Dean’s neck, pressing more soft kisses to his cheek. “I want you to realize your worth. I want you to accept everything I give to you. I am...blessed with you, Dean. If anyone is undeserving, it is me.”

Dean snorts and holds Cas close, a leg coming up to wrap around his waist. “Of course I’ll accept it...I’m a greedy son of a bitch when it comes to you,” he murmurs, looping his arm around Cas’s neck. “Cas, I’ve fucked up everything in my life. I even started the apocalypse, and then I did such a piss poor job of fixing it my brother had to jump into the cage with your douchebag brothers. And then you...you were at war and I didn’t do anything to help. I’m the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“No,” Cas says firmly, shaking his head. “No, Dean, you- you  _ unwittingly _ started the apocalypse. Your brother made the decision on his own to jump into the cage. And I…” he sighs, one arm moving to wrap around Dean’s waist. “Every decision I made, I made of my own accord. I couldn’t be influenced. Not then. Not until…” He pauses, searching Dean’s face. “You didn’t put me here. I put myself here. You...you helped pull me back out. You’re helping make me... _ me _ again.”

Dean suddenly grabs the back of Cas’s neck and pulls him down, smashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. He forces his tongue inside and groans when he tastes himself. He scrapes his nails into Cas’s scalp, rolling his hips up. 

“I love you,” he breathes when they part, blinking up at Cas hazily, his lips red and swollen. “I don’t care if you’re God, or an angel, or human- you’re  _ mine _ . Even if I don’t deserve you, I’m not letting you go.”

“Good.” Cas smiles and brushes his knuckles across Dean’s cheek. “I’ll always be yours. I promise.”

Dean smirks and traces the last bit of cum off his chest with his finger, and slips it between Cas’s lips. He wiggles the tip against his tongue and lifts his thigh to slide against Cas’s still hard cock. “Now that we’ve gotten past the emotional shit,” Dean raises a brow. “Is my Master gonna finish fucking me or what?”

Cas groans around Dean’s finger and closes his eyes, shifting quickly to push him onto his back again.

“For the record, we’re not ‘past the emotional shit’,” Cas cocks a brow, pressing his lips together. “Far from it, actually. But I suppose for now…”

He dips a hand between Dean’s legs and circles his swollen rim with a finger.

“You’re not too sore, are you?”

Dean shakes his head and arches up, a leg falling to the side to shamelessly expose himself. “Never. Not for you…” He groans and bites his lip, jerking when his sensitive hole twitches under Cas’s teasing touch. “I’m always ready for you. I’m always  _ hungry _ for you.”

Cas growls and pulls Dean up, flipping him over and pushing his head down to the mattress. He pushes inside, watching Dean’s hole stretch around him as he takes him in. His nails bite into Dean’s hips as he sets a rough pace, gritting his teeth.

“Tell me how _ hungry _ you are for me, Dean…”

“I’m  _ starving _ , Cas,” Dean whimpers, hissing at the sting from Cas’s nails. He snaps his hips back, using his elbows as leverage to throw some of his weight into it. “You’re so fucking incredible, so  _ good _ , I want you to fill me up. I want to feel every bit of you. I want  _ all _ of it. It won’t be enough until I’m so full I can’t stand it.” 

Cas’s thighs slap hard against Dean’s backside, rocking him hard on the mattress. He loosens his hold on his hips marginally, flexing his fingers, then drapes himself over Dean’s back and loops his arms around his torso. 

“You  _ love  _ me inside you, don’t you, Dean?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Dean growls, huffing into the sheets, pulling at them roughly as his body is rocked,  _ pounded _ , into the bed. “Deep inside, Cas,  _ fuck _ , you get so deep. I wanna keep you inside always. I’m so empty without you.”

Cas grunts and thrusts harder, faster, grazing his teeth across Dean’s shoulder. It takes Dean a few seconds to realize Cas is mumbling Enochian under his breath, then he stops abruptly, opting instead to bite down on the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder as he comes hard, hips stilling momentarily as his cock nudges Dean’s prostate. 

He lets out a desperate moan against Dean’s skin as he thrusts shallowly, spilling more into him, wave after wave gushing into his tight channel. Dean groans and presses his face into the mattress, twitching and shuddering as he feels his hole filled to the brim. He milks that cock for all it’s worth, clenching down and grinding back on it. He reaches behind and grips Cas’s hip, digging into the tight muscle, urging Cas forward for more, more, more. 

Cas presses his forehead to Dean’s back as he feels another jet of cum pulse into his body, then another, and he nips lightly at the red mark he’d left on Dean’s neck. A whine tears from his throat as he pumps his way through his climax, squeezing Dean tightly and wrapping his wings around both of them.

Dean turns to nuzzle the nearest batch of feathers, rubbing their silky smoothness against his skin. They block out most of the light, leaving him and Cas in a dark cocoon. He slides his arm across the mattress and runs his fingers over the wing, watching them twitch and ruffle. He puffs against them and groans when he feels cum sliding down his thighs. Dean clenches, trying to keep it all in, moaning Cas’s name over and over into the sheets, his voice muffled and rough.

“ _ Elasa bolape ascha, baltoh ollor,”  _ Cas moans in guttural Enochian, sliding his hands across Dean’s chest and pressing his lips to his shoulder. His cock twitches with the last of his orgasm, more cum dribbling out as he mumbles softly, almost incoherently, against Dean’s skin. 

“ _ Ol g-chis-ge tofglo, Dean...tofglo…ol g-chis-ge ol oadriax. Olani hoath ol…” _

Dean is, admittedly, a bit rusty on his Enochian and can only make out a word or two that Cas is muttering into his skin. It’s beautiful, though, the way it tumbles and flows together. Words of power laced together just for Dean, pressing into him and surrounding him. 

“What…” he swallows and turns his head, reaching back to to squeeze Cas’s thigh. “What does it mean?”

Cas sighs and lifts his wings, shifting them both to their sides and redraping his top wing over both of them. He lets Dean’s head rest on one arm, looping the other under his arm and across his back. Nosing at the crook of his neck, Cas hums quietly, smiling against his skin.

“You won’t like it.”

Dean perks at this and smiles as he blinks up at Cas. “Oh?” he chuckles and traces small patterns in Cas’s arm. “Did you call me a fatass or something? I’ll have you know my ass has the perfect amount of muscle and fat. Looks damn good in jeans, too.”

Cas chuckles. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

He clears his throat and pulls Dean close with a hand on the back of his neck, resting his chin on Dean’s forehead as he recites the same phrases, this time in English.

“‘You are good, righteous man. You mean everything. You are my heaven. I love you’.”

Dean closes his eyes, silent for several long moments, then sighs and snakes his hand behind Cas’s back. He wishes he was better at things like this, knew what to say. But all he can do is clear his throat and mutter an ‘I love you, too’ before he hides his face in Cas’s neck. He squirms, pressing closer, soaking up Cas’s heat.

Cas brushes his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck, letting the silence wash over both of them. He shifts slightly and winces, his joints aching and skin on fire, but he tries to hide his discomfort, kissing Dean quickly on the forehead.

“I have...somewhat of a surprise for you.”

“Mm...what kind of surprise?” Dean asks, relaxed and oblivious to Cas’s discomfort. “A good one? Don’t really like bad ones...even if those are the ones I get the most.” He smiles and noses Cas’s jaw.

“Of course it’s a good one,” Cas laughs and groans as he pulls himself up, hesitating at the end of the bed. “It’s a surprise, not an inconvenience.”

He slides off the edge of the bed to his feet and starts picking up clothes and laying them on the bed, casting a glance over at Dean, who intentionally spreads his legs to give him a glimpse of his leaking hole. Cas’s breath hitches and he shakes his head quickly, looking away and busying himself with putting on his clothes.

“Your friend, Baraqiel…” Cas looks over when Dean perks a little, pushing himself up on his elbows, “he’s in one of our rooms, resting...healing. But Cael says he should be ready to leave today, and I figured you would want to say goodbye.”

“Yeah, I would,” Dean nods and sits up, crossing his legs as he rubs a hand over his face. “Should I expected this sort of reward every time I kill a crazy bitch? I can get used to that.” 

He smiles and crawls off the bed, making a show of bending down to grabs his jeans and subsequently showing off his abused rim. 

“ _ Dean _ ,” Cas says firmly, throwing him a desperate look. “ _ Please _ . I have to get work done, and you… well, that  _ crazy bitch  _ was right about one thing. You  _ are  _ a distraction.”

Dean shrugs, not looking the least bit sorry, and finally pulls his jeans on. “Sounds like a personal problem to me,” he smirks and saunters up to Cas, nuzzling against his neck. “But come on. Like you don’t love my distractions.”

“Be that as it may,” Cas pulls away reluctantly, cocking a brow as he pulls at his tie, “I'll escort you there. I would like to speak to him briefly before he leaves, but then I'll give you your time.” He gives up on the tie and lets it hang loosely around his neck. “Come.”

He inclines his head and starts toward the door, holding out his hand. Dean sighs and rolls his eyes amusedly. He grabs Cas’s hand, tugging him to a stop, and makes quick work of his tie. 

“Now we can go,” Dean pecks him on the lips, giving the tie a teasing tug. “You’re lucky you’re God otherwise I’d make fun of you more.” 

Cas huffs a laugh but doesn’t respond, taking Dean’s hand again and leading him out the door and through the hallways. He stops abruptly at a door that Dean thinks- though he can’t be sure because of the daunting similarities of each hall- is close to his own. Cas clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back, then knocks at the door.

There’s a muffled grunt from the other side, followed by a lazy: “What?”

“Dean and I...we wish to speak with you before your departure.” Cas looks over and squeezes his hand, then releases him. 

There’s silence, then muted shuffling, and finally Baraqiel opens the door slightly, leaning into the crack. His long curly hair is sticking up all over his head but Dean notes that he looks much better now, his face a healthy tan and no longer covered with cuts and bruises. His eyes aren’t swollen shut anymore, revealing a set of blue irises that could give Cas’s a run for their money....maybe. 

Baraqiel smirks and runs his tongue over his front teeth, nodding in acknowledgement. 

“Dean, hey, man. You’re looking a lot better. I mean, no offense, but you looked like you were ready to bite it the other day.”

Dean smirks back and tilts his chin up. “Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself now. You could almost pass for hot.” He winks and saunters in, brushing past Baraqiel and making himself comfortable on a chair. He licks his feet up and leans back, effectively looking like he owned the place. “Nice digs, by the way. Better than the last place. Was a little cramped.”

Cas tries to hide the wince as he looks awkwardly around the room, his wings fidgeting by his sides, hands doing the same.

“Baraqiel, I just want to thank you again for finding Dean. I am indebted to you. Ask any favor at any time, and I will do my best to facilitate.” Cas steps forward and hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder, giving him a nod. “But in the meantime…”

He takes a step back and drops a hand to his pocket, producing something small and white and no more than a couple of inches long. He smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and presses the joint into Baraqiel’s hand. 

“Cael informed me that you were missing...certain earthly pleasures. I’ll thank him for the both of you.”

Cas throws Dean one more glance and a small smile before lowering his eyes to the floor and leaving wordlessly, the door slamming shut behind him.

Baraqiel holds the joint up between his fingers, turning slowly on his heels to face Dean, his eyebrows raised.

“Did...God just give me pot?”

Dean barks a laugh, tossing his head back. “Yeah, he even rolled it up for you, too.” His lips split in a wide grin and he raises an eyebrow. “Cas doesn’t really do subtle. I’m surprised he had the decency to hide it in his pocket.” 

Dean shifts the his side and fishes out his lighter, tossing it to Baraqiel who catches it easily. “Light up, man. You deserve it.” 

Baraqiel grins and places the joint between his lips, plopping down in a chair across from Dean and lighting it. He takes a long drag, pulling the smoke deep in his lungs, groaning as he closes his eyes and leans back. He smiles again as he exhales and opens his eyes, leaning forward to offer the joint to Dean. 

“Speaking of looking like shit…” he gestures vaguely to the door, cocking an eyebrow at Dean. “What, uh… what's he planning on doing about that?”

Dean sobers a bit, smile slipping, as he takes the joint and slowly inhales. He only coughs once, because he hasn’t done this in a while thank you very much, and shakes his head.

“I,uh...I don’t think there’s anything to do…” he swallows, handing it back to Baraqiel. “Short of putting the souls back, which...even if he did do I don’t know if that would save him. The vessel is so damaged. And his grace is, too, I think…”

Baraqiel taps the joint with a finger, watching Dean with narrowed eyes as he rests his elbow on an armrest. He tongues at his bottom lip, taking it between his teeth and letting it slide back out. 

“So… he'll die, then. Eventually.”

Dean takes a deep breath and leans back, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he says roughly, licking his lips. “Yeah. I think...I think I’m gonna lose him.” 

His leg bounces up and down, and he scrubs his hand over his mouth. “I finally got ‘em, and…” Dean sighs, falling silent. 

Baraqiel opens his mouth to speak, but sighs and brings the joint back to his lips instead. Silence stretches between them as he inhales and exhales again, looking down. 

“You know,” he says finally, looking up as he tugs his bottom lip with his teeth, “it's gonna be hard for you to hear, but… you have to convince him to put those souls back. It's dangerous power he's meddling with, man. How he's made it this far…” 

He scoffs and looks down again, shaking his head. “You want to do what you and your brother do… save the world? It's gotta start there. I'm sorry.”

Dean grits his teeth and rubs his palms against his thighs. Baraqiel is right, of course, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Dean had two choices: watch Cas slowly deteriorate and possibly take half the world with him, or have Cas put the souls back before it’s too late and die in the process. But hey, at least the world is okay. 

“I know,” he grunts, looking down at the floor. “I know…”

Baraqiel nods slowly, ashing the joint and leaning forward to pass it back to Dean. He sinks back into the chair and drums his fingers on the armrest. 

“I mean, you never know, man,” he says, perhaps a little too brightly, “maybe he'll make it. Maybe…”

The look on Dean's face has him clamping his mouth closed, and he sighs again. 

“Look, I...I know you...love him.”

Dean snorts and takes a drag, closing his eyes as he does, and lets it out slowly. “I don’t think love is strong enough a word,” he says quietly. “Cas is... _ Cas _ . He’s just always been there when we-  _ I-  _ needed him. Even if I didn’t return the favor. And I...I hate that I can remember everything about hell except him. He’s the one that got me out. And I know it wasn’t easy. And I just wish I could remember what he looked like, what it felt like…” 

Dean stops and blinks down at the joint before passing it back. “I don’t think there is a human word for what he means to me.” 

“I think perhaps the closest you humans have would be  _ agape _ .”

Baraqiel gives him a small smile as he leans forward to take the joint and place it between his lips. He inhales deeply and flicks the ash, smoke billowing out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. 

“So I guess you guys… go back a lot further than this bout of insanity, then. I mean...I knew of his mission to Hell for you, but, you know.” He flaps a hand around his head. “Kinda just… stopped listening after that.”

Dean rolls his eyes and sighs as he crosses his ankles. “Well, yeah. We go back a bit. He fell for me. Literally. And even when he was in the middle of all that crap with Raphael, he tried to help me and Sam with our crap. I’m not saying he’s perfect,” Dean shrugs. “But in the eleventh hour, he was always there.” 

He pauses and raises a brow. “So, what. The apocalypse started and you just decided to bow out?”

Baraqiel watches as he runs his finger along the joint, nodding absently. 

“Yeah… something like that.”

He hits the joint and passes it back to Dean, blowing out the smoke. 

“I was never a fighter, man. Tracking… that was my job. And I fucking hated it. Half the time finding pour souls who ‘lost their way’, chose a different path, dared to think differently. I think I always knew there was more than that. It's not all black and white out there.” He looks up at Dean, running his tongue over his teeth. “You know that. And Castiel… well, I may not be as perceptive as you, but...” he smirks, “seems to me pulling you out of Hell showed him a few shades of gray, too.”

Dean takes another drag, feeling himself start to loosen just a bit. He rolls it between his fingers, tongue pressing behind his teeth. “Well, lotta good it did him. Seems like it’s been one shit storm after another. Sometimes I wonder if it’d been better if he never met me.” He takes a second drag before passing it back. “I think it would have saved him a lot trouble.” 

Dean shrugs and plays with a loose thread on his shirt. “Tell me about your rebellious years,” he says, abruptly changing the subject. “Musta done some interesting things.” 

“Young as in....?” Baraqiel huffs a laugh, rolling the joint between his fingers. “I was a pretty obedient fledgling. I didn't really start...I don't know,  _ experimenting  _ until several years ago. But if I was to start talking about all  _ that _ , we'd be here all night.”

“Wait, wait, fledgling?” Dean grins and leans forward, his somber mood lifting somewhat. “Like, a baby angel? Did you have little baby wings, too? Oh man, did you jump off clouds when learning to fly?”

Dean’s grin gets wider and wider, and he begins collapsing into a fit of (manly) giggles as he pictures Cas and Baraqiel hopping from cloud to cloud, their little wings flapping desperately.

“You humans are so incredibly small-minded,” Baraqiel scowls, bringing the joint to his lips. “It’s probably safe for you to forget all you think you know about angels.” He breaks into a smile as he hits the joint, inhaling and hitting once more before passing back to Dean.

“But yes, angels start as babies...just like people. Wings don’t come in for a few years, though. And as you’ve seen these past few months,” he gestures around them, “Heaven’s not exactly what you expect it to be, is it? It’s not clouds and rainbows and pearly gates.”

Dean scratches at the side of his nose and inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, that’s true…” He takes a deep drag, blinking slowly, then exhales. “I actually expected it to be bigger...I mean,” he shrugs and waves his hand. “It’s huge, but it’s proportionate to my size. Your trueforms are huge, right? So shouldn’t these halls be...bigger? Or is it some cool magic trick, like something out of Harry Potter.”

“Think of our trueforms as...abstract things. The embodiment of our forms. They’re large, sure...and powerful. They’re not there, yet they’re always there. Just beneath the surface, towering above us.” Baraqiel scratches the top of his head and reaches forward to take the joint. “Step outside of your mind...it’s the only way you’ll ever get the chance to see one.”

Dean blinks and rubs at his chin, the couple of days old stubble scratching at his fingers. “Mm...I saw… a glimpse of Cas. I think. He was...well, actually I have no idea what he was doing.” He blushes a bit as he recalls the intense scene, still so fresh in his mind. Sometimes he sees it in his dreams and wakes up terrified, aroused, and wanting more.

“But there was crazy lightning. And he seemed so...huge, and I saw this... _ shape _ inside him. And it...well,  _ he _ , I guess...stared at me with all these eyes…” Dean shudders and shakes his head, shifting in his seat. “I got the feeling I wasn’t supposed to see whatever I walked in on, but he just...well, he wasn’t angry. Just...let it happen.”

Baraqiel hits the joint once more and taps it out, sitting the roach on the table between them and exhaling. He rubs at his bloodshot eyes and shakes his head.

“No, you probably were not. Angels are pretty private about it...it’s a pretty intimate thing, flexing a trueform. I’m surprised he didn’t smite you on the spot.” He laughs quietly and looks up at Dean, his smile fading slightly. “I mean...I’m sure he wouldn’t have done that. But honestly...that’s pretty major. He must really trust you.”

Dean runs his tongue over his teeth and hums thoughtfully, fingers drumming on his thigh. He’s always wanted to ask Cas about that night, but it’s difficult to get anything out of him. 

“Yeah...guess so,” he finally sighs, threading fingers through his hair. “So you’ve got your freedom back. What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get back to Earth?”

“ _ Get laid, dude _ ,” Baraqiel groans, slinking down in his seat. “It’s been so long. I think I miss it more than pot.”

He grins at Dean and chuckles, pushing some hair out of his face. 

“What about you? What are you gonna do?”

Dean blinks and leans back in his chair. “I haven’t really thought about it. I...well, when I go back it’s going to be because Cas is…” He swallows and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Find Sam and Bobby. Wallow in misery with whiskey for company.” He snorts at himself. “Do what I always did before. Hunt.”

He turns his head and offers a small smile. “You know, if I wasn’t a one angel man I’d take care of that getting laid thing for you. Unfortunately for you, this ride is full.”

“Pity,” Baraqiel clicks his tongue, giving him an exaggerated pout. “Well. Unfortunately for you, I’m told I’m a real good time.” He kicks at Dean’s leg weakly, dropping his foot back to the floor. “So...you’re not planning to head back yet? Not until…” he pauses and closes his mouth, smile fading.

Dean shakes his head and rubs at his neck. “No...he-he’s going to need my help more than ever now. He gets weaker by the day. The other angels are going to notice eventually. I need to be here...I need to take care of him.” He shrugs and looks away. “This whole mess is my fault. It’s the least I can do.”

“Nah, man. This wasn’t your fault. This one is on Castiel...I think we both know that. Hell, _ he _ knows that.” Baraqiel sits up and leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Dean y- you know Cas can’t...stay here, right? He’s a bomb, dude. In Heaven. The angels, they… with all those souls free for the taking up here, who knows what would happen? It would be chaos. I know it may sound insensitive but...this is something that has to be handled on earth. Those souls can’t get back to Purgatory from up here.”

“I…” Dean huffs and stands up, beginning to pace around the room. “I have nowhere to take him. I don’t exactly have a home...and he’s just as dangerous down there. If something goes wrong and he takes out a city, that’s going to be on me.” 

Baraqiel is right, though. These angels, most of them anyway, were only serving Cas because it would have been death otherwise. Once they realized Cas is dying, there’s no telling what they’d do. And if the souls got free up here, they’d all scramble for the power. Which is stupid, because they’d only explode like Cas, but still. That would be a lot of powered up angels to deal with.

Baraqiel watches silently as Dean moves about the room, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Dean,” he starts slowly, licking his lips. “The bloodshed you fear for on earth? Double it,  _ triple  _ it if he stays here. You have to get him back, and find a way to put those souls back in Purgatory. It’s the only way you’ll prevent people on earth from getting hurt.”

Dean rounds on him and raises an eyebrow. “You ever try to convince Cas to do anything? It’s like pulling teeth. He’s so damn  _ stubborn _ .” He collapses on the bed with a sigh, face in his hands. “But I know you’re right. I just...you know, for once, I’d like to not be the one who has to deal with this shit.”

Baraqiel drops his head and unclenches his hands, holding them out palms up before clapping them back together.

“Look, I’ll...if you need help, I’ll help you however I can.” He looks up at Dean, cocking his head to the side. “Just...tell me what I can do.”

“No, Baraqiel,” Dean shakes his head firmly. “You’ve done enough, and got your ass beat for it. You’re finally free. Just...go smoke your pot and hop on whatever chick or dude you find. Cas will listen to me...eventually.”

“I sure hope you’re right,” Baraqiel sighs, running a hand over his face. “How quickly has he be deteriorating, anyway?”

Dean frowns at his lap, rubbing absently over the denim. “At first, slowly...but now?” He shrugs, eyes darkening. “He’s getting  _ tired _ now. I woke up to him sleeping next to me. He’s sore, a little feverish...I mean he’s always ran a little hot, but now he’s almost burning. And his wings...they’re losing feathers pretty steadily now.”

_ “Fuck.”  _ Baraqiel looks across the room to the window, sucking in a deep breath. “That’s...yeah, that’s not good. Those souls...they’ll continue to weaken the vessel until they can physically destroy it.” He lets out the breath, letting his shoulders sag with the exhale. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through this, man. Having to see him like that, it’s...I’m sure it’s difficult for you.”

“ ‘Difficult’?” Dean scoffs, giving Baraqiel a weak glare. “Clearing a vamp nest is difficult. Killing a wendigo is difficult. This? This is...excruciating. He’s dying before my eyes and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Baraqiel tongues the inside of his cheek. “You know, he, uh. He came to me, to find you, when you were captured. And I guess I just...didn’t really realize how...intense things were for the two of you. Not until then. He was half crazy, out of his mind trying to find you. And even through everything I kept thinking...this must be what the humans yearn for. What they’re always talking about, writing about, making movies and writing songs about. This must be what it looks like, to witness it in person.” He smiles and shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel it myself, but it’s...pretty magical to see in someone else. Someone like you. Makes me feel like I have something to look forward to, you know? Reminds me that I haven’t witnessed all there is yet. There’s always more to see. To feel.”

Dean bows his head and rubs at his eyes, shoulders slumped. “Yeah…” he grunts. “Real fuckin’ magical.’ He pauses and smiles a bit. “Worth every painful minute.”

He lifts his head and gives Baraqiel a hard stare. “You ever do find it? Just...grab it. Don’t waste time like I did. You’ll hate yourself for it.”

Baraqiel stands and crosses the room, clapping a hand on Dean's shoulder and giving him a smile. 

“Well I'm not stupid like you two jackasses, so,” he shrugs, dropping his hand, “no worries there.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, big talk now. Just wait. It’s terrifying, the real thing.” 

He stands and runs a hand through his hair. “Too bad Cas only brought you one of those. I hate all this  _ feeling _ talk without something to blame it on.” 

“Oh, c’mon, it’s just me,” Baraqiel grins and turns on his heel, walking over to the window and leaning against the wall. “And anyway, who are you gonna talk to about this stuff? Your brother? Castiel? You wouldn’t talk to them the same way you would to me.”

He pauses and shoves his hands in his pockets, letting his head fall back against the wall. Dean fidgets in his place, finally tilting his head back and forth and nodding with a nonchalant shrug.

Baraqiel scratches absently at his cheek. “So...say you  _ can _ find a way to save Castiel. What then, man?”

Dean frowns and blinks. Huh. Good question. He hasn’t actually thought that far. Or, really, he hasn’t  _ dared _ to think that far. He isn’t so lucky as to have Cas actually survive this. 

“I...don’t know,” he says slowly, rolling his shoulders. “If I can save him, he won’t have his powers anymore. He’ll just be...an angel. And probably in danger. I’m sure he’s pissed off more than a few up here.” 

“Oh, no doubt,” Baraqiel laughs, shaking hair out of his face. “But I think he’s also gained a lot of respect. And not just because he’s God. But I think… I think a lot of people here believe in him. In what he stands for...for the most part, anyway.”

He scoffs and pushes himself away from the wall, throwing a hand in the air as he walks back to his chair. He slumps down in his seat, propping his feet up on the coffee table and relighting the roach.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s not my favorite person in the world right now...but I knew of him before. I know that the guy that had me imprisoned and tortured isn’t the real Castiel.”

Dean pushes off the bed and plops back down in his chair, slumped with his legs splayed out. “I don’t think any of this matters, Baraqiel. It’s a nice thought, but...I think he knows he won’t survive it.”

He tilts his head back and allows himself a brief fantasy. One where Cas is alive and well, in the passenger seat of Baby while Dean flies down the road. It’s dark, so they pull over and sit on the hood, look up at the stars while Cas tells him the name of each one. Dean isn’t really listening, he’s watching Cas’s mouth move, silently reeling on how much knowledge his angel has. And when Cas pauses to look over at him, Dean takes advantage and covers his mouth with his own. 

Dean drags himself back to reality and shifts in his seat, blinking down at the floor.

Baraqiel lets out a breath through his nose, his eyes flitting back and forth from his hands in his lap to Dean’s face. He raises the roach to his lips and takes a hit.

“Yeah, well. There’s always hope. I thought humans were real big on that.”

“Not this human,” Dean snorts. “Real world doesn’t have any room for hope. Trust me.”

“Oh, don’t be so cynical, Dean,” Baraqiel lazily kicks his foot at him. “Hope is what brought you here with him in the first place. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t have hope that you could save him, am I right? You had hope when he seemed unreachable. Now he’s come back to you, he’s right here in front of you, and you claim not to have it? I call bullshit.”

Dean blinks, then smirks, tilting his head. “Hey, who knew you could be so good at the pep talk, B?” He just as lazily kicks back then sighs. “I get it, though. It’s just...any time I dared to hope for a happier ending, it blows up in my face.” Dean presses his lips together in a thin line. “Maybe if we do actually survive this, we’ll take a very, very long vacation.” 

“I’d invite myself, but I really do not think I want to be anywhere near you two.  _ Especially _ on a vacation.” Baraqiel makes a disgusted face and hands what’s left of the roach to Dean, slumping bonelessly back into his seat then giving him a squinty-eyed grin. Dean chuckles and Baraqiel’s smile fades after a moment, and he looks at Dean sincerely. “Honestly, man? If anyone can save him, it’s you. You’ll find a way. I can feel it. You’ve just got this…resiliency about you. I can sense these things.” He clicks his tongue and winks, smiling a toothy smile.

“Oh, you can  _ sense _ it, huh?” Dean quirks a brow and takes a small drag. “You sure it’s not just this talking?” He flicks the joint and smirks. “Well, you can bet your ass I’m gonna try. Like I always do.” 

Baraqiel opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by frantic knocking on the door.

“Dean? Dean?!”

Cael’s voice is muffled through the door, wild and desperate. Baraqiel grips the armrests and sits straight up in his chair, looking wide-eyed between Dean and the door.

“Damn it,” Dean curses and is on his feet in seconds. He strides towards the door and rips it open, blinking at a disheveled looking Cael. 

“Cael, what’s wrong?” Dean glances down the hall, not sure what he’s expecting to see, but instincts and all that. 

“It’s Castiel,” Cael says by way of explanation, swallowing hard and a little out of breath, “he’s...he was speaking with us and he just...collapsed. We wanted to take him to the infirmary but he insisted on his room, so Netzach and Phanuel are there with him now. Dean, he-” his eyes fall to Baraqiel, who’s sitting rigid in his seat and watching them intently, and he lowers his voice, “it’s happening, isn’t it?”

Dean swallows, jaw clenched, and looks over shoulder at Baraqiel. He gives Dean a somber nod. 

“Yeah, Cael,” Dean says quietly. “I think so.” He looks Cael in the eye, fists clenched and jaw set. “Take me to him. Then get Baraqiel out of here. Things are gonna get rough.”

Cael nods and the two of them weave quickly through the hall and across the massive throne room to Cas’s door. Cael knocks once and opens it, holding it open for Dean and gesturing at Netzach and Phanuel, who both give one last look at Castiel on the bed. He raises a weak hand and waves them out, and the two of them disappear through the door.

“Let me know if he needs anything,” Cael says somberly before closing the door behind him.

Dean inhales deeply, eyes closed, bracing himself. He’d known this was coming for months, but it still feels too soon. And, opening his eyes, looking at Cas so... _ fragile _ and helpless, 

it’s enough to make Dean’s knees weak.

He exhales and walks over to the bed, sitting down beside Cas and running fingers through his hair. It’s damp with sweat, Cas’s skin flushed with fever. Just being near him, Dean can feel the waves of heat coming off him.

“Cas…” Dean trails off. He doesn’t know what to say. Asking ‘are you okay’ is just stupid and saying ‘it’s going to be fine’ is equally stupid. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says softly, giving him a small smile. “How was your visit?”

Dean’s lips twitch into a ghost of a smile and he leans down to brush his lips against Cas’s forehead. “It was...nice, Cas. Thank you.”

He shifts and stretches himself next to Cas, keeping himself pressed up close, fingers still massaging Cas’s scalp. “Cael...said you collapsed,” Dean mumbles quietly.

Cas hums and looks up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. He folds his hands over his stomac h, trying to hide a wince as he settles further down into the bed. His wings lay splayed and lifeless beside him, brittle and faded. Dean wonders vaguely how long it will be before his skin literally begins to tear apart.

“He shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Dean narrows his eyes and lifts his head to look down at Cas. “He didn’t  _ bother _ me, Cas. He’s worried and knew I would want to be here for you.” He smooths a gentle hand down a wing, straightening a few of the dry feathers. He watches Cas’s face, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Cas’s skin looks tight and gaunt, pale and blotchy. 

“We...Cas, we can’t ignore what’s happening,” Dean says softly. “I’m not going to just...leave you to go through this alone.”

“You rightfully should.”

Cas opens his eyes and looks over at him. He blinks once and furrows his brow, licking his dry lips. “I have to get you back home.”

“Only if you’re coming with me,” Dean says firmly, hardening his gaze. “I’m not leaving you, so quit talking like I am.”

He reaches out and squeezes Cas’s hand, drawing it up to his lips to kiss the knuckles. “We’ll go to Earth. We’ll...we can put the souls back in Purgatory. And then everything will be fine.”

Cas chuckles and gives Dean's hand a weak squeeze. “I suppose there's no use in arguing, is there?” 

“Nope,” Dean kisses each finger, trying to ignore the clamminess of the skin. “When Cael comes back, he can take us to Bobby’s.” He shifts and sighs as more feathers come apart, dry and dull instead of their lustrous black color Dean has come to love. Watching them die is almost as bad as watching Cas. Dean hopelessly flattens and smooths, caressing each feather lovingly, even pocketing a few strong ones that still held a hint of Cas’s old color.

Cas’s smile fades and he stares, letting go of Dean's hand to gently stroke his cheek. He brushes his fingertips across his cheekbone and cups his jaw, then runs his thumb along his bottom lip, letting out a harsh breath. 

“I love you.”

Dean exhales sharply and kisses the pad of Cas’s thumb, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. He kisses his way down Cas’s arm, worshiping each patch of skin he can get to. He brushes his lips over the shoulder, up the neck, cupping the side of Cas’s face with his hand as he finally comes to rest at Cas’s mouth. The kiss is gentle and a little desperate, only broken by a whispered ‘I love you’ from Dean before he goes in for more.

Cas moves his hand to where Dean bears his faint mark on his shoulder, squeezing gently. He draws in a shuddered breath and blinks up at Dean when he pulls away, frowning as he blots at a tear in a corner of Dean's eye. 

“Hey… don't. Not for me.”

“Who else, if not for you,” Dean says softly, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re...everything to me. I can’t...do this without you. If you-” He pauses, swallows, forces himself to breathe. “I’ll just fall apart. I know I will.”

Cas shakes his head, laying his hand on the side of Dean’s neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you...before all this. You were there. You told me what I needed to hear even when I refused to listen. You were right. I’m sorry I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” Dean says, maybe a little too harshly. He lays his hand over Cas’s, squeezing as he bows his head to nuzzle into the crook of Cas’s neck. “You did what no one else was willing to do. Had the strength to do. Without you, Raphael would have destroyed this world and everything in it.”

“Even still, I should have listened to you. Or at the very least, consulted you.” Cas relaxes back into the pillow and shivers. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. When he opens them again he just stares up at the ceiling, frowning and tilting his head. 

“It hurts,” he says almost incredulously, running a hand across his chest. “You have no idea how it feels. Like they’re contracting and stretching from the inside, pushing outward. It’s getting more difficult to restrain them all. It would just be so easy, to-” he stops and swallows, shaking his head marginally. 

Dean tightens his fingers around Cas’s hand. “No, Cas. You have to hold them a little longer. We’ll open Purgatory, dump them all, and then you’re gonna be fine.”

He lifts his head, sending a prayer to Cael to hurry with Baraqiel. It feels strange to pray to another angel, feels even stranger to know he can’t lean on Cas’s strength anymore. It’s on him now.

“Can you do that for me?” Dean asks, pressing a kiss to Cas’s cheek. 

“Mmm,” Cas nods, lazily reaching over to take his hand. He looks over at him and smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners.  “Of course, Dean.”

Dean’s forehead crinkles, but he nods and offers a small, strained smile in return. He presses more kisses to Cas’s skin, every part he can reach, showering Cas with affection with the occasional whispered ‘I love you’ thrown in between. 

Finally, there’s a hesitant knock on the door. Dean sighs and grunts, “Come in.”

Cael steps inside and bows his head. “Baraqiel is released now, sir. You, um...prayed to me?” He blinks, looking somewhat uncomfortable that Cas’s human prayed to him. 

Dean nods and sits up. “We need to move him. Now.”

Cael tilts his head. “Move him, sir?”

“Earth.”

Cael’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ah, I mean no offense, but I feel he’s safer here-”

“We have to get the souls out and put them back in Purgatory, Cael. We can only do that on Earth.”

Cael shifts on his feet, looking torn, before turning his attention to Castiel. “My Lord…?”

“Whatever Dean says,” Cas confirms sternly. “I trust him.”

Cael bows slightly and strides over to them, sitting on the bed and holding his hands up to both of them, hesitating only a moment before making contact with both of them. The room around them disappears and they’re surrounded by the shabby, peeling wallpaper of Bobby’s living room and the smell of alcohol and dust.


	14. Chapter 14

Cas grunts with the landing, scrunching his face in pain.

“Thanks, Cael,” Dean nods to him. “One last favor. Don’t let any other angels know we’ve moved him. The more...private, the safer he is.” 

Cael nods in understanding before disappearing in a flurry of wind. Dean quickly moves Cas to the couch, helping to lay him out gently. 

“Dean?” Bobby voice has him turning his head. 

“Hey, Bobby…” Dean gives him a weak grin. “Sorry to, uh, just drop in, but...we kind of need a place to stay.” 

Sam bounds in before Bobby can answer, skidding to a stop behind him. His mouth hangs open as he pants, his face wrinkled with confusion.

“Dean? What the- where the hell have you-?” he looks down and sees Cas, his eyes widening. “What’s wrong with him?”

Dean glances down at Cas, at his shallow breathing and feverish shiver, and fights back a fresh wave of just  _ ache _ . “His vessel, it’s...failing. He doesn’t have a lot of time. Bobby,” he turns to the older man. “Please tell me that you’ve been spending all this time looking for another way to open Purgatory. He won’t last until another eclipse.” 

Bobby sighs and adjusts his cap. “Well I  _ was _ , but then he got...better,” he casts Cas a glance. “So I was puttin’ my energy towards  _ other stuff _ .” 

Dean waved him off, desperation and frustration in his voice. “Well then get back on it. We need it now.” 

Bobby glowers at him, but stomps off with dark mumblings under his breath. 

Cas reaches out, grabbing Dean’s jacket. He locks eyes with Dean before turning them on Sam and attempting a weak smile.

“Sam. You’re looking...well.”

Sam huffs a laugh and smiles back, taking a few steps toward them. “Yeah. Yeah, Cas, I’m...I’m good. You’re looking…” he holds out a hand, grasping for words.

“Like Superman met his kryptonite?” Cas asks teasingly, moving to prop his head slightly on a pillow.

Sam nods quickly, then looks to his brother, who’s watching Cas intently. 

“Yeah.”

Dean, either uncaring that his brother is watching or just forgetting that he’s there, grabs the hand hand on his jacket and squeezes gently. 

“I’ll find you a bed,” he says quietly. “This couch ain’t exactly comfortable.” He brushes some damp hair from Cas’s forehead before rushing up the stairs to see if one of the spare rooms has a decent enough bed for Cas to rest on. 

Sam runs his hands through his hair and tucks some behind his ears, then pulls a chair over from the table to sit by the couch.

Cas clasps his hands together over his stomach and looks up to the ceiling. 

“I'm sorry, Sam. For everything.”

“Hey, we'll find a way to get past this,” Sam says unconvincingly. “We always do.”

Cas winces as he pushes himself up slowly, slumping against the back of the couch and sucking in a ragged breath. He looks up again as he hears Dean walking around on the hardwood upstairs, raising shaking hands to pull irritably at his tie.

“Yeah. I know you do. But just in case,” Cas looks at him tiredly, “you should have another plan...to get me far away from here. Away from all of you.”

\----

“Damn it, Bobby, would it kill ya to clean every once and a while?” Dean mutters as he rips off old, stained sheets from the ancient bed and kicks them out into the hallway. He rummages through the closet and manages to find some clean sheets and blankets stuffed in a corner. He takes these and quickly makes the bed up, grabbing every pillow he can find and fluffing them about a million times before he deems them fit. 

Dean huffs as he looks around, wishing he had more time to clean up. The place was dusty and dark, especially compared to what Cas is used to. 

He does, however, take a few minutes to wipe down the window so Cas can look outside. He also cracks it open just a little to get some fresh air inside. 

Finally, when he’s decided there’s nothing more he can do with it, Dean stomps back downstairs. Cas is still slumped on the couch, pulling and tugging at his clothes. Dean bends and offers an arm, giving him a small smile. 

“C’mon,” he tugs Cas on his feet and lets him lean his weight against him. “We’ll get you in bed and get some of these clothes off.” 

Sam jumps up and throws Cas’s other arm around his shoulder, snaking his own around his waist. The two of them help Cas up the steps, with little to no help from Cas himself, and sit him on the bed. 

Sam rubs nervously at the back of his neck, looking between Cas and Dean. He holds his hands out to the sides. 

“What can I do?”

Cas sighs and fumbles with his tie, tugging weakly to loosen it. He gives up quickly and lets his hands fall to his lap with a  _ smack,  _ closing his eyes and pressing his lips together. 

Dean throws Sam a glance as he rearranges pillows. “Help Bobby. We need a door to Purgatory like yesterday.”

“And if we can’t find one?” Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Then we  _ make _ one,” Dean growls, glaring at his brother. “So quit arguing and get going.”

Sam’s jaw twitches and he turns on his heel to leave, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Cas. “Here, let me.” He reaches out and makes quick work of the tie, tossing it to the floor. Cas’s shirt collar is soaked with sweat and the skin on his neck is flushed. “You want the rest of this off?” Dean asks softly, blinking down at him.

“No, no,” Cas says quickly, raising shaking hands to start in on the buttons of his shirt. “Just… less restricting.”

Dean takes this over too, and Cas lets his hands fall again, sighing heavily. 

“You shouldn't be so harsh with them,” he says gently, looking up at Dean. “They don't - they haven't seen you in so long. They don't know what's going on....how to fix it. They're doing all they can.”

Dean sighs as he pops the buttons loose, stopping when he’s halfway down and pulling the shirt open a bit. “I know...I’m not  _ trying _ to be a dick, I’m just…” His hands fall to his lap and Dean bows his head. “...Scared.”

Cas watches him for a moment and reaches out, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I know. I’m-” he pauses and lets out a breath, looking to the window. He stares unfocused at the sunlight streaming in, throwing broken shadows across the floor, then adds softly: “Me too.”

Dean brings Cas’s hand to his lips and kisses it softly, trying and failing to ignore the ache in his chest and the tremble in his fingers. Instead, he focuses on making Cas as comfortable as possible. He removes the trench and jacket, rolls up his sleeves, takes off his shoes and fluffs the pillows  _ again _ . 

When he runs out of things to fidget with, Dean sits beside Cas with their hands entwined and resting in his lap.

“It’s nice here,” Cas says vacantly, looking back to the window. He holds his free hand out into a beam of sunlight, letting it warm his palm. He turns it over and clenches his fist, the blotchy skin on the back of his hand pulling precariously, and he relaxes it again and lets it fall back to the bed. He looks back at Dean and gives him a small smile. “It feels...like a home.”

“Closest thing I’ve had to one,” Dean murmurs, eyes falling to Cas’s lips. He vaguely wonders how he’s never noticed before, but Cas has the most... _ beautiful _ smile. Maybe because he just doesn’t get to see it enough. “I used to think...maybe, after we finished saving the world, I could find someplace to make a home. Sammy would probably go finish college. I could...fix cars or something. Have a little house...nothing fancy, but something I can call my own. I love driving Baby, but living on the road is getting hold. And it…” He pauses, swallowing. “Would be nice. Sharing it with someone.”

“That does sound nice,” Cas agrees quietly, looking down at his lap. He drags his thumb across Dean’s knuckles. “You deserve that. You should… you deserve a place to call home. I want that for you.”

“It’s not home without you,” Dean shakes his head, pressing his thumb into Cas’s palm. “It just...can’t be. Won’t be.” He huffs, closing his eyes. “I  _ need _ you there, Cas.”

Cas takes a shaky breath and stares ahead, biting his bottom lip. “Dean…”

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose, letting it out through his mouth, trying to steady his pounding heart. He looks back at Dean again and tilts his head, his eyes searching his face. 

“I…” he thinks of all the things he can say, all the things he logically should say, but can’t find it in him to say any of them. “I would love to be there.”

Dean smiles shakily and he nods, pressing kisses to Cas’s hand. “Good. Then you will be.” He leans back against the pillows, their hands resting against his chest. “I’ll make sure it has a big window.”

“And a big bed,” Cas comments as he turns to lean back against the wall, the two of them barely squeezing onto the full-sized bed. “And a garage. Mmm...perhaps a garden.”

Dean chuckles and nods, eyes sliding shut. “Definitely a garage. Can’t have Baby sitting outside.” He hums and runs his tongue over his teeth. “A huge bed. For all the freaky stuff we’re gonna do. And I’ll get you a garden. Whatever you want.”

Cas looks over at him fondly and gives his hand a weak squeeze. Silence stretches between them until Cas hears frantic footsteps in the hall, and he instinctively drops Dean’s hand, trying to push himself up straight. 

Sam stops just inside the door, breathing hard. “Dean.” He inclines his head to the hall, looking back and forth between them.

Dean sighs and throws his legs over the bed, brushing his hand against Cas’s before standing. With a final glance at Cas, as if making sure he’s still there, Dean slips into the hallway and closes the door.

“What is it?” he asks, shifting on his feet, fingers fidgeting.

“A door to Purgatory...it can only be opened with an eclipse,” Sam says quietly, stepping away from the door. “How are we supposed to  _ make _ an eclipse, Dean? No one we know has that kind of power. No spell we can find has that kind of power. I...I-” he shakes his head, rubbing his palms furiously on his jeans. 

Dean tugs roughly at his hair as he paces up and down the hall, boots scuffing the dusty floor. The only creature with that kind of juice is dying in the next room and doesn’t have the energy to create a damn eclipse. There is nothing else, no one else that could possibly-

Dean stops in his tracks, heart stuttering. He bites his lip, a chill going through him. He’d been really hoping to avoid summoning  _ him _ again, considering he hadn’t been too happy to see Dean last time.

“Death,” Dean swallows, turning to Sam. “He can do it. He’s the only thing out there that can match God.”

“Death, as in the horseman?” Sam scoffs incredulously, swiping a hand through his hair. “Dean...why would he help us? A-and even if he would, what’s to stop him from just killing all of us? We’re not exactly his favorite people in the world. And I’m sure Cas…” he gestures to the door and drops his hand. “Cas has kept the guy kind of busy.”

“I don’t know if he’ll help,” Dean throws his hands up with a shake of his head. “I mean, he...he helped last time.” At Sam’s confused look, Dean sighs and rubs at his eyes. “Sam, how do you think Cas suddenly...got better? It...it was me. I summoned Death and he gave me a spell to restore his vessel.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he sputters, then scrubs his face with his hands. 

“Dean, you-” he clamps his mouth shut and puts his hands on his hips, nodding slightly. He licks his lips and looks away, then finally back over at Dean.

“In exchange for fixing my head.” It isn’t a question.

Dean looks away, takes a breath, then turns back to Sam. “Yes. I...prayed to Cas. Told him I’d give him the spell if he healed you. He agreed. We fixed his vessel...at least, temporarily. Death warned me it might not last, but…” He shrugs helplessly. “It’s all I had and I couldn’t...lose him or you, and I knew I would have if I didn’t do something.”

Sam sighs and drops his hands. “That was stupid.”

Dean tilts his head back and forth and rolls his eyes, and Sam huffs a humorless laugh.

“Okay.” Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out again, nodding. “Okay, fine. It’s a bad idea, and if he gives me a chance to say ‘I told you so’ before he reaps me I won’t hesitate to take it, but you’re right. It’s all we’ve got.”

He pulls his lip between his teeth and lets it slide back out, nodding his head to the door. “We’re gonna have to move him. Maybe to the panic room.”

“I..Sam,” Dean shakes his head, glancing at the door. “I don’t think he  _ can _ move. He’s getting weaker by the second. Moving him is just risky now. He’s barely holding them in now.”

“But Dean, he-” Sam looks at the door and back at Dean, lowering his voice. “At least if we get him there, there’s a chance of containing them if things go sideways. Up here he’s going to take the whole town with him, at least.”

“Fine, fine,” Dean growls, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “Just...you have to help me carry him. He can’t move, Sam.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam holds a hand out toward the door, and Dean sighs and opens the door, leading the way back through. 

Cas tears his gaze from the window and turns his head slowly to them, leaning back against the wall, his breathing labored. He manages a small smile.

Dean can’t manage to return it and he swallows thickly. “Cas..I’m-I’m sorry. We...we have to move you again. Somewhere...um, safer.”

He gestures to Sam, who walks to the side of the bed, Dean close behind him. “We’re going to carry you, okay?”

“No, I can walk,” Cas insists sternly, pulling himself up by gripping the comforter. He slides himself slowly to the edge of the bed and sets his feet flat on the floor, then takes a deep breath as he stands shakily.

Dean rolls his eyes when Sam looks at him questioningly. He loops one of Cas’s arms around his shoulders and Sam follows suit, both ignoring Cas’s weak protests. 

Slowly, gingerly, they get him down into the basement and into the panic room. They lay him gently onto the rickety cot, Dean doing his best to make it as comfortable as possible. He looks around dejectedly, the grimy walls and lack of light just as depressing as he remembers. His hand finds Cas’s and he squeezes, to offer comfort as well as give himself some.

“What’s happening?” Cas asks quietly, looking at Bobby with his hands in his pockets, then over at a fidgety Sam, and finally letting his gaze fall on Dean. A shiver runs through him and he squeezes back.

“We found a way to open Purgatory,” Dean says, hoping Cas doesn’t hear the tremor in his voice. “But it’s, uh...risky. We don’t...we don’t know if it will work.” He looks down at Cas, tries to look reassuring, he gets lost in blue and it takes Sam’s not so subtle cough to snap him out of it.

Cas blinks once and nods, relaxing his head back onto the cot and staring straight up at the ceiling. “Will the three of you...have time to leave? Before…” he trails off, swallowing. He looks up at Dean, furrowing his brows and tightening his hold on his hand.

_ I won’t leave you. _

“We’ll be fine,” Dean says firmly, stroking Cas’s knuckles. He turns to Sam and nods. “Start getting everything together...and uh, may want to order some grease and fat. And don’t forget the pickle chips.”

Sam purses his lips but turns and leaves, leaving Bobby sitting at the desk flipping through an old book with green leather binding. Cas’s dry lips part and he tilts his head at Dean, frowning.

“You can’t stay in here. If things go wrong, if it doesn’t work, you’ll-”  
“Cas,” Dean kneels beside the cot and, after a quick glance at Bobby, who is pointedly ignoring the two of them, he kisses Cas on the cheek. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll make sure Sam and Bobby are safe if things go wrong, but I...I can’t just leave you here.”

“ _ Dean _ ,” Cas whispers desperately, “in a short amount of time I have hurt many people. I’ve killed. I’ve tortured. And I will die with all that on my conscience. But I will not die knowing that I’m taking you with me.”

“You’re  _ not dying _ ,” Dean whispers harshly, eyes desperate. “And even if you…” Dean shakes his head, grabbing both of Cas’s hands and pressing his lips to them. “You think I can live with the fact that I left you here to die? You think I can keep going like everything’s okay, knowing you died alone? I’m not doing it. And don’t you fucking argue with me about it.”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line and stares into Dean’s eyes. He huffs through his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, his breathing shallow. 

“You’re stubborn.”

“Yeah, and you need to save your strength,” Dean snorts, looking back at Bobby. “So just lay there and let me do the work.” 

Cas swallows and nods, giving Dean’s hand another weak squeeze.

“I love you,” he finally whispers softly, so quiet Dean almost didn’t catch it.

Dean looks back down at Cas and tries to breathe, tries to picture this ending okay, and can’t seem to do either. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers back, brushing back some of Cas’s hair.

“Hey, got somethin’,” Bobby mutters, waving Dean over. Dean gives Cas’s hand one more squeeze and heads over, leaning over the desk to look where Bobby’s pointing.

“It’s the spell to open the portal. Once we have all the ingredients, and granted Death actually comes when you boys call.” Bobby pushes his hat up his forehead and scratches his chin, resting an elbow on the table.

“Oh, he’ll come,” Dean mutters darkly. “I just don’t know if we’ll survive it.” 

He looks back over at Cas. “Bobby, watch him for me. I’m going to help Sam get everything we need...the faster we do this the better. Cas won’t last much longer.” 

He claps Bobby on the shoulder and brushes his knuckles across Cas’s too warm cheek before pulling away reluctantly. “I’ll be right back. Just...hold on, okay?” Dean only receives a weak nod. He sighs and quickly leaves the panic room to find Sam and get what they need. 

Dean’s retreating footsteps fade to silence as Cas stares out the panic room door after him and watches him disappear up the steps. Bobby coughs and turns in his seat, leaning back and rapping his knuckles against the wooden desk. 

“That was all kindsa stupid, Cas. You know that, right?”

Cas looks over to him and sighs, running his thumb over his forefinger nervously. He shivers violently and looks down at the sheen of sweat across his splotchy chest. 

“I know.”

“So,” Bobby rubs at his scruffy beard. “You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Dean? I ain’t never seen that boy fuss over someone so much. Not even Sam.” 

“There’s not-” Cas huffs and looks away, biting his lip. “He’s just trying to help. I...I tried to talk him out of it but he...he wouldn’t listen.”

“Uh huh,” Bobby leans back on his hands, giving Cas a clear ‘I ain’t buyin’ it’ look. “Look, you don’t wanna tell me? That’s fine by me. Hell, the less detail I know, the better I’ll sleep. But I need to know what kinda mess he’s gonna be if you don’t make it.” 

Cas takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He imagines him and Dean in the tub, Dean draped across his lap with his hands in his hair. The two of them moving together, touching, foreheads pressed together as soft moans fill the room. How beautiful Dean looks above him, skin flushed red and lips parted. Cas opens his eyes again and it’s gone, replaced with the slow-moving fan on the ceiling, light streaming in between metal bars.

“He’s going to need both of you,” Cas says finally, swallowing hard and looking back over at him, shaking his head. “Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that” Bobby sighs and pushes off the desk, pulling at his cap then pushing it back into place. “What a damn mess this all is.” 

With a huff he turns back to the book, reading over the spell, putting to memory each word and trying not to think about the state his boy will be in when this all goes bad. Because it will. It always does. 

“I’m sorry, Bobby.” Cas watches him closely, lowering his trembling hands to the cot and fisting into the scratchy blanket. “He didn’t deserve this. None of you did. I was cocky and stupid and reckless. But the truth is, if it weren’t for Dean, I...” he huffs a laugh, tongue resting against the back of his teeth, “Bobby, he saved me. And in doing so he saved the world.”

“I know exactly what he did,” Bobby says gruffly. “Sam was throwin’ a fit about it, and I didn’t exactly like it either, but I understood…” he sighs and turns back to Cas. “I shoulda known he was gonna pull something desperate. The way he looked, way he was actin’...when he disappeared I knew it had something to do with you.” 

Cas licks his lips and swallows. “No, you don’t understand. In Heaven… if it weren’t for Dean, I would have destroyed half of the population. He showed me another way.” He tries to sit but it sends sharp pains shooting through his torso, and he hisses and relaxes back onto the squeaky cot. 

“Yeah, like I said. I know what he did.” Bobby watches Cas struggle to breathe, chest rising and falling with each painful inhale. “Ain’t exactly rocket science. He put himself as close to you as he could get. Idgit. Trying to save you and the world. Didn’t care if he got hurt in the process. Boy doesn’t know when to quit.” 

“Don’t let him continue to try to save me. When things go bad...pull him out. Let it end with me.” Cas turns his gaze to him and nods solemnly. “You and Sam. Don’t let him sacrifice himself, or make a deal. Save  _ him _ . It’s all that matters.”

He lays his head back on the pillow and blinks slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “He thinks he can save me, Bobby. He can’t. I can feel it...they’re too strong. It’s done.”

Bobby is silent for a moment and can see the skin on Cas’s chest redden and slowly start to pull apart. His hands were shaky and blotchy, the skin on his knuckles starting to split and bleed. 

“I’ll pull him out,” Bobby says softly. “If nothing else, I can promise you that. I won’t let him throw himself into the fire, and he  _ will _ try. But I’ll be damned if I lose one of them again.” 

“Good,” Cas says hoarsely, letting out a shaky breath. “That's good.” A tremor tears through his body and he grunts as it sends him arching off the bed, grasping at the sheets for purchase. He lets out a broken wail as he collapses again, gasping for air. 

Bobby is by his side in a second, but there’s little he can do but stand there and watch the former angel struggle to hold himself together. “Those boys better hurry up,” he mutters to himself, glancing at the door. “I don’t think you’re gonna last much longer.”

\----

The moment the horseman arrives, Dean thinks:  _ Didn’t get enough pickle chips. _

Because Death looks pissed. Death is already pretty scary when he’s in a relatively decent mood, but an angry Death has Dean almost needing new pants.

“ _ Please _ , for all that is good in this world, Dean...why did you think it was a good idea to call me again?” 

Dean swallows and looks to Sam, who looks about as scared as him. 

“I, uh...need a little favor,” Dean begins, but is interrupted with a wave of a pale hand.

“No, no, no,” Death sighs, cane thumping on the floor. “I’ve already done that, remember? I let you have that little spell to put your precious angel back together. I’m not your  _ friend _ , Dean, and I don’t  _ do favors _ .”

Dean nods quickly. “I-I know. But Cas is...the spell isn’t working anymore-”

“Not my problem,” Death shrugs. “I told you it may not last. Now release me or I reap you both.”

“Wait,” Sam finally speaks up, taking a brave step forward. “Just-we need to open Purgatory.”

Death blinks. “Excuse me?”

“We didn’t summon you to fix his vessel,” Sam huffs, rubbing sweaty palms on his shirt. “We need an eclipse. To open the door, so we can put the souls back.”

Death turns to Dean. “You convinced  _ God _ to put the souls back?”

Dean shrugs, fingers twitching at his sides. “Yes, okay? But he can’t hold them much longer. If he breaks before we can open the door, then this whole damn city goes up with him.”

“Explain to me why that’s my problem,” Death hums, turning to a greasy bag and peaking inside at the contents. “I told you to clean up your mess, Dean. Now do it.”

“We need the door in order to do that,” Sam grits out, jaw clenching. “And it  _ is _ your problem. Thousands of people will die. You must care about what happens to us, even a little.”

“You know, I really don’t,” Death sighs, popping a pickle into his mouth. “You two have caused such an upset in the universal balance, it’s a wonder it’s even still standing.”

“Exactly,” Dean scoffs. “And you don’t think an entire city being wiped off the map might further that problem? C’mon, man, I know you have the juice to make an eclipse.”

“Or I could just reap you both and let this thing play out,” Death shrugs. “Your actions have consequences, Dean. You chose Castiel over the world and now you’re going to pay for it.”

“If you really wanted to reap us, you’d have done it by now,” Sam argues, flinching when Death’s cold stares turns to him. “But you didn’t and I don’t think you will. We’re trying to fix what Castiel broke and we need the eclipse to do it.”

Death stares at Sam for a long minute before turning back to Dean, raising a brow. “I’ve seen the state your ‘God’ is in. I’m minutes from reaping him. Even now, he’s gasping for air as his vessel slowly breaks apart. Even if you get those souls out, Dean...he’s going to die. There’s no saving him.”

Dean tenses and he grinds his teeth so hard it hurts, fingers digging into his palms. “He might not-”

“No, my boy…” Death says in a marginally softer tone. “He will. I promise you. I need to know, Dean, right now...that when he does, you will leave it alone. I will make an eclipse if you  _ promise _ to leave. It. Be.”

Dean turns away, both hands coming up to tug at his hair, pulling roughly as he stares at the dusty bookshelf in Bobby’s living room. Deep down, he’d known Cas wouldn’t make it. He’s known for months that in the end Cas was going to die. But he’d pushed that reality aside, opting for stupid, blissful ignorance.  _ Hope _ , as Baraqiel put it. Hope that just maybe Cas would the other end of this whole mess. 

But when Death himself says you’re going to die, well...there’s just no fighting that, is there.

“Fine,” Dean says roughly, voice breaking, and he blinks back tears. “Just give us the damn eclipse.”

Death watches him for a beat, then nods once. “Very well. It’s done. Now fix this.”

Dean jumps when he disappears, both him and Sam breathing a huge sigh of relief. Dean rubs at his eyes harshly, wiping away the wet stains. 

“Dean…” Sam starts, but Dean waves him off.

“No, Sammy. We just...we don’t have time.” Dean jerks his head. “We have to open that door  _ now _ .”

Sam bites his lip, but nods and follows his brother back down to the panic room.

\----

Cas arches against the bed again, stifling a scream through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. He finds the sides of the cot and holds tightly to the metal frame, his knuckles white and the muscles in his forearms tight under pale skin. Sweat soaks through his shirt and his chest heaves as he stares up at the ceiling and waits for the next wave of excruciating pain. 

It turns out that being ripped apart from the inside feels exactly like it sounds.

He glances down at his cracked skin briefly before letting his head fall back to the pillow. His skin looks almost translucent, bright light tumbling and rolling against it from the inside. It’s edging out his natural power, his grace straining with all it has to keep the souls at bay. But it’s dwindling, fading fast, and Cas is having to use every last bit he has left to hold on, just a little longer…

Footsteps pound and the door to the panic room swings open. “Bobby!” Dean barks. “That spell ready?” He hardly waits for a response as he strides over to Cas, kneeling beside him and lightly touching the side of his face.

“Hold your damn horses, boy,” Bobby huffs as he paints the sigils on the wall, his fingers covered in blood. “This is a little complicated and I gotta get it right. Wait, did Death actually  _ answer _ you?”

“Yeah,” Sam says as he lifts the book from the desk, squinting down at the pages. 

“And you lived through it?” Bobby snorts incredulously as he steps away from his work, eyeing it critically. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you boys have the best luck in the world or the worst.”

“Try the worst,” Dean growls out, eyes never leaving Cas. He looks over him helplessly, at the torn skin, the blood, the strange light that’s ripping Cas open from the inside. Death’s voice echoes in his head and sucks in a breath, knowing these were his last seconds with Cas. 

“Cas…”

“Dean,” Sam’s voice is hesitant. “I...Dean, we can’t wait anymore.”

“Just...gimme-”

“No,” Bobby barks, earning a look from Sam. “Look, if I need to be the bad guy right now, I will. Dean, time is up. We open the door now or everyone dies. Now get him up.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut then nods once, pulling Cas’s arm over his shoulder and pulling him up and out of the cot.

Cas leans heavily on Dean, folding on arm across his own torso as he grits his teeth and shuffles over to Bobby. He sways on his feet, trying and failing to stand of his own accord. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he manages, looking at him with weary eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean shakes his head and presses a hasty, desperate kiss to Cas’s cheek, uncaring of the eyes on them. “Don’t, Cas. It’s okay. I don’t regret any of it.”

“Dean,” Bobby’s voice is gentle but firm. “Step away from him now. You can’t be near him when we open that door. It’s too dangerous.”

Dean hesitates, eyes shining, and he bows his head as he reluctantly lets go of Cas.

Cas teeters precariously but manages to stay standing, clenching his fists tightly by his sides with his remaining strength. He looks over at Dean with tired eyes, blinking until he comes back into focus.

“The house, Dean,” he says firmly, nodding slowly. “With the big window. Promise me.”

Dean closes his eyes, a few drops of tears falling unbidden down his cheeks, as he pictures it. The house, small but perfect for them. Maybe by a lake, surrounded by tall trees. A garden out behind it, a garage for Baby, and a big window looking over the water, perfect for Cas to look out of. 

“I promise,” Dean says brokenly, nodding and opening his eyes. “I promise, Cas.”

Cas nods once and takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he turns back to the wall smeared with blood sigils as Bobby starts chanting.

“ _ Ianua magna purgatorii, clausa est ob nos lumine eius ab oculis nostris retento sed nunc stamus ad limen huius ianuae magnae et demisse fideliter perhonorifice paramus aperire eam _ ,” Bobby looks up from the spellbook briefly as the portal begins to open, the wind whipping through the opening and struggling to blow the pages from under his hand. Cas sways with the force of the wind, threatening to tip over at any second.

“ _ Creaturae terrificae quarum ungulae et dentes nunquam tetigerunt carnem eius ad mundum nostrum nunc ianua magna, aperta tandem! _ ”

Bright light bursts forth from the portal and connects with Cas as he bows into it, giving the men only a brief flash of the souls being ripped from his body before it becomes too bright to see anything. The wind roars deafeningly, metallic screeching causing them to cover their ears. It lasts a few long excruciating moments before the room immediately falls silent and the light disappears, the hole in the wall fading and disappearing completely to smooth metal.

Dean slowly lifts his head, having buried it under his arms after falling to the floor from the tornadic wind. He casts his eyes around quickly, spotting Sam and Bobby unfolding from their positions on the floor as well. He breathes out and closes his eyes, steeling himself, before opening them once again.

His gaze falls to Cas, on the floor in a crumpled heap, utterly still. Shaking, Dean slowly crawls towards him. Coming to rest at his side, Dean stares down at the broken body, the bloody clothes, and the complete lack of life within it all. He presses a hand to Cas’s neck and it’s cold. He moves it down to his and it’s still, no rush of air or gentle thump of a heartbeat. Just...nothing.

Dean bends over, rests his head on Cas’s chest, and sobs.

Bobby trades a long look with Sam. Sam lets out a breath and shuffles slowly over to Dean, bending down and resting a hand on his back.

“Dean, c’mon, hey,” Sam says quietly, tapping him gently. 

Bobby takes a deep breath and walks over too, taking a look back at the wall and down at Cas’s broken body. Sam continues to speak, softly trying to encourage Dean to move.

“Dean, c’mon. Let’s go upstairs. I’ll...you don’t have to do this. I’ll take him-”

“ _ No _ ,” Dean practically snarls, tightening his grip on Cas, fingers bunching into his clothes. “ _ I’m doing it. _ ”

“Dean-”

“Leave it, boy,” Bobby says softly, laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Let ‘em do what he needs to.”

Sam sighs and pulls away, finally standing and looking down at the two of them. He begins to leave when he notices a faint glimmer of light in Cas’s chest and he blinks, then squints. It's there a moment longer then spreads and fades, and the cracks in Cas’s skin begin to pull together, the blood dissipating and the color returning to his skin. 

Sam's eyes widen and he points down at Cas. 

“Dean!”

Blinking through his tears, Dean wearily lifts his head, ready to bite Sam’s head off when he feels it. The shallow rise of Cas’s chest as it takes in air. He snaps up and looks down at the now not so broken body, his mouth dropping open. He scrambles onto his knees and rests a hand on Cas’s neck, feeling warmth and a heartbeat.

“Cas?” Dean gasps out, desperately searching his face. “Cas, can you hear me?”

Cas takes a soft shuddered breath and opens his eyes, blinking a few times to fight the fog. Slowly Dean comes into view, and Cas thinks the green of his eyes might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He blinks again and again but the color doesn't fade, and he frowns in confusion. Because surely Dean can't be  _ here,  _ because angels don't go to Heaven when they die. Where angels go, Cas wouldn't have felt such  _ happiness _ . 

“Dean?”

Dean chokes on a sob, this one of pure joy, and throws himself forward. He wraps his arms around Cas and pulls him up into a tight hug. “You’re... _ alive _ ,” he laughs into Cas’s neck, fingers threading through Cas’s hair. “I can’t believe-Cas, how did you-” 

Dean huffs and shakes his head, pulling away just enough to look at Cas’s still confused face. He cups his cheeks and grins, feeling so stupidly happy he could burst. 

Cas slowly wraps his arms around Dean, tilting his head. 

“Dean…. how are you….  _ Here _ ?”

“Cas, we’re at Bobby’s,” Dean huffs, stroking Cas’s cheeks, then his jaw, then his neck, because he just can’t  _ stop _ . “You...the door, after we opened it, you were-” Dean jerks his head roughly. “And-I don’t know how-then you were breathing and-Cas, look, you’re healed.” He grabs a hand and holds it up, letting Cas see the perfect skin, completely blotch free. 

Cas blinks down at his hand then pulls back to touch his chest, picking up his torn and bloodied shirt to reveal smooth dry skin underneath. He lets out a breath and lets his hands fall again, looking around the room with wide eyes. His body aches and his head hurts a little, but he's  _ alive _ . Incredibly. Impossibly. 

“ _ Nono _ , I can't be,” he takes a breath and tries to haul himself to his feet, failing miserably and tumbling back to the floor. “No, I felt everything. I felt them…  _ rip me apart…” _

Dean places a steadying hand on Cas’s shoulder, thumb stroking his neck, and he swallows with a nod. “Yeah, they...they did. But you’re back now, Cas. I have no idea how...one second you’re gone and the next you’re breathing.” He leans forward and presses their foreheads together. “I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, Cas. You’re  _ here _ and that’s all I care about.”

Cas’s eyes sting and Dean's face blurs before the wetness runs down his cheeks. He brings his hands up to Dean’s shirt and holds on, making sure this is really  _ real,  _ that Dean is really here and it's not some cruel and well - deserved twist of fate. He huffs and nods once, pulling the shirt lightly, reassuring himself. 

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean nods, their noses brushing, his hands smoothing down to rest on either side of Cas’s neck. The steady heartbeat against his palm is the best thing Dean’s ever felt. “I’m here. It’s okay now.”

\----

Cas inhales sharply as Dean helps lower him onto the bed, pulling each leg up with gentle care and settling back into the mound of pillows. He looks down and pulls irritably at the old concert tee that Dean had dug up for him, along with a pair of his sweatpants. His skin feels sticky and his entire body aches, but he’s far too exhausted for a bath now, and in any case, Dean insisted on getting him changed and rested first.

He adjusts his shoulders, pushing them back into the pillows a few times before squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a ragged breath.

“I can’t feel them anymore,” he says softly, keeping his eyes closed. “Even here, usually I can...I just  _ know _ they’re there. But I c-” he chokes and presses his lips together, shaking his head.

Dean blinks and looks up from adjusting the blankets and pillows around Cas. He pauses and sucks in a breath. “You...mean your wings? They’re gone?” His chest aches with the thought. They couldn’t be gone.  Those strong, beautiful wings ripped away. Dean swallows and shakes his head. “No, no. You’re just weak is all. You’ll rest and you’ll feel them again. M-maybe they’re still healing.”

Cas opens his eyes and looks at him, swallowing hard. He nods unconvincingly and reaches out to take his hand, letting them rest on the blankets beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats because doesn’t know what else to say, and because he could apologize a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Cas, stop apologizing,” Dean sighs, rubbing his thumb over smooth knuckles. He looks again at the unmarred skin and shudders with profound relief and happiness. He’s here, holding Cas’s hand, talking to him. It’s a damn miracle if he’s ever seen one.

“None of that matters now, okay?” Dean looks him in the eye. “All that matters is you’re here. You’ll rest as long as you need. Don’t worry about a thing. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Cas relaxes a little, turning his head to look out the window. It's dark out now, but Bobby’s is set back from the road and shrouded in tall trees, blocking out any city light and leaving a bright display of stars littered across the sky. He sighs and feels suddenly very far from home, but simultaneously surrounded by it. 

“So about that house…” Cas turns back to look at Dean, his eyes glinting with the smallest hint of a smile. 

Dean smiles back and slides in next to Cas, threading their fingers together. “As soon as you’re back on your feet,” he promises. “We’ll start looking. Hell, I’ll even build it if I have to.” Cas gives him a flat look and Dean clicks his tongue in mock offense. “What? I can build a house. It ain’t hard. Walls, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, done. Easy as pie.”

“I’d very much like to see that,” Cas chuckles, letting his head fall against Dean’s shoulder. He gives his hand a squeeze and presses his lips to the shoulder, sighing deeply. 

Dean closes his eyes and matches that sigh, feeling completely exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time. It’s confusing and leaves his brain fuzzy. He wants to get up and  _ move _ , as if he could build that house in a single day and still have time to christen the bedroom. He also feels just about ready to collapse and sleep for about a week, the emotional roller coaster of the last 24 hours too much to handle.

“You know what?” Dean mumbles, pressing his lips to Cas’s forehead so that his voice is muffled. “I think we need a really long fucking nap.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Cas agrees, turning slowly to his side and resting a hand on Dean’s neck, stroking his jaw with his thumb. He watches him intently, feeling the heat radiate from his body and the steady rise and fall of his chest. His eyes dance over freckles and tanned skin, a face that’s laced with exhaustion but lively, and even though it’s a face that Cas has seen before it’s like he’s seeing it for the first time all over again. He hums softly and presses their foreheads together again.

“I love you.”

Dean beams at him, tired eyes lighting up. “I love you, too,” he whispers, kissing Cas on the lips gently. He sighs into it, thinking again that he can’t be so lucky to get to have this. He’s so afraid to blink, because it might disappear. He might wake up, cold and alone, Cas still dead. But Cas is here, warm and soft and pressed close. Dean wants to wrap himself up in this moment and never leave. 

He maneuvers them both under the blanket and switches off the lamp beside the bed. Arms around Cas’s torso, Dean pulls him close and buries his nose in his hair. It’s messy and a little sweaty and  _ perfect _ .

Cas blinks against the darkness, his face half-buried in the front of Dean’s shirt as he clings to his torso. He swallows around the inexplicable lump in his throat, feeling safe, feeling happier than he deserves, feeling more at home than he’s ever felt in his long life. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of the feel of Dean’s arms around him or the sound of his voice when he says  _ I love you. _

Cas lifts his head slightly to look up at Dean in the darkness, his voice a scratchy whisper:

“A big window?”

Dean smiles into Cas’s hair, rubbing circles in his back. “Yeah, Cas. A really big window.”


End file.
